Resistance: Crossfire
by It's All In Your Mind
Summary: 5th and probably final in Resistance series. Lots of drama/fluff/action - and Finnick is alive. The description is bad but the story isn't.
1. Travelers

**First chapter! Yeah. That's about all I've got to say. Thanks for reading!**

**Travelers**

(FINNICK)

"_Twinkle, twinkle, little . . . something-or-other. I don't know the words to this song. But I'm singing it anyway. Something about the sky and lights. Please stop crying and fall asleep. Shut up, my dear Cillian. La, la, la, la . . . go to bed."_

Thankfully, by the end of my poorly-improvised song, my son is asleep.

I look out the train's window and watch the thinning trees whoosh past. In a few minutes, we'll be able to see the mountains. An hour after that, we'll be in the Capitol.

Annie's still fast asleep, curled up in a nest of blankets. Dodge is probably sleeping, too.

I'll explain. For the 76th and final Hunger Games, all the victors have been called to the Capitol to attend. And by all victors, I mean all victors: Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch, Johanna, Beetee, Enobaria, Dodge, Annie, and me – and our son, Cillian.

Absolutely everyone agrees that it'd be better to leave Cilly back in District 4. But everyone also agrees that at five weeks old, he's much too young to leave his mother.

I set Cilly down in his makeshift cradle and sit on the bed beside Annie. "Come on, sweetie," I say, stroking her hair. "Time to wake up."

Annie pouts and rolls over onto her stomach, spinning the sheets even tighter around her. "No."

"Yes." I carefully tug her up into a sitting position, supporting her with my arms as she leans against my chest. I start pushing her disheveled curls away from her face as she rubs her eyes. "So, how did you sleep?" I ask.

"Good," she replies after yawning. "I think that's the longest I've slept in a month."

"Mmm," I say. "A full three hours."

She starts peeling the blankets away from her. "How's my baby?"

"He's asleep."

She looks up at me with those huge, green doe-eyes. "And how are you?"

"Nervous." I kiss the top of her head. "And very hungry."

We get up, get dressed, and have breakfast. Ninety minutes later, we arrive in the Capitol.

Annie carries Cillian and the baby bag, I carry her suitcase and mine, and Dodge carries his own. As soon as we step off the train, we're greeted by a woman in her thirties.

"Hello," she says in a thickly accented voice. "My name's Angharad Hoel. I work in the household in which you'll be staying."

The rest of us introduce ourselves.

Angharad has pin-straight, chocolate brown hair that ends just above her slim shoulders. She's about two inches taller than Annie, with a curve-less body. It's clear she's been surgically altered: her skin is an unnatural yellow-brown, and her irises are metallic bronze. She's not unattractive, but she's nothing extraordinary.

She insists on carrying the baby bag for Annie, and even offers to hold Cillian; Annie thanks her and lets her take the bag, but holds on to the baby.

Annie's a great mother. She never complains about sleep-depravation or how often Cilly cries. She absolutely adores him, and he adores her.

I put my arm around her as we walk. Angharad leads us through an upper-class residential neighborhood and talks about different spots we might like to visit. "There's a quiet shopping area about ten blocks east. There's a book shop, coffee shop, clothing store, and even a little skin- and nail-dying parlor."

Dodge and I exchange a look.

"So where exactly are we staying?" he asks, running a hand through his short brown hair. "Is it like an inn or something?"

"No," Angharad replies. "You'll be staying in President Snow's old mansion."

"Why?" I ask.

"I'm not sure, sir; I never thought to ask," she says. "But you'll all have your own private rooms – though no one will be staying in the president's, or his family members'. We've everything you'll need for the baby, too. A cradle, bassinettes, diapers, and even some clothing."

Once again, Dodge and I glance at each other. Family members? We knew Snow had a family – almost all of whom have been imprisoned – but I never pegged him as the kind of guy who'd live with them.

We finally come up on a big, off-white house. There's a high fence all around the front, with an ornate gate. Then there's a massive front lawn. The house itself is off-white, with massive windows. It has to be five floors at the very least.

And so we enter the grounds. And then the marble threshold of the house. I've been here a few times before, but only when it's all decorated for feasts.

"The other servants are Citlalli and Osiris," Angharad says, shutting the door behind us. "You can leave your bags here and we'll take them to your rooms. The others are in the library."

"Others?" Annie asks. "Other victors are here? Already?"

"Yes," she replies. "Beetee, Johanna, and Enobaria have already arrived."

And so we go in.

It's a big, high-ceilinged room with wooden pillars. The walls are lined with books. There's a large chess table. Two coffee tables. A desk. And as many leather chairs as you can possibly dream of. Beetee is picking through a bookshelf, Enobaria is filing her nails, and Johanna is pouting.

Dodge clears his throat, and they all look up.

"Ah!" Beetee says. "So nice to see you!"

Johanna stands up and walks straight toward me. I smile and open my arms to hug her. "Johanna!"

She slaps me straight across the face. "What the _eff_ is wrong with you, you stupid little mother _effer_!" She shouts, but she doesn't say _eff_. "How could you effing _do that to me_?" She shoves me. "_I hate you_!" she shrieks. "What is _wrong_ with you? Why the _hell_ would you pretend you're _dead_? You stupid –" shove "–little–" smack "–son of a–" punch in the arm "–_bitch_!"

I just stand there, straight-faced. I know she was trying her best to hurt me, but we both know she didn't succeed.

"Oh, Finnick!" she says, and leaps at me. She wraps her arms around me and starts crying. When we finish our hug, everyone is staring at her like she's just come at me with a knife. Johanna sniffs, wiping her eyes. She walks over to Annie, pulls something out of her pocket, and holds it out to her. "I made this for your kid."

Annie takes it. "Thank you," she says quietly. The present is a little wooden sea monster she must've whittled. "It's lovely."

"Hey, Jo," Dodge says brightly.

"Don't even talk to me you freaking turncoat," Johanna says in a neutral voice, wiping her eyes.

Annie, who retreated when Johanna attacked, comes back to me. Beetee and Enobaria come over and say hello. Everybody coos over Cillian and complements him excessively.

The library door opens, and in comes a woman in her mid-twenties. I assume she's Citlalli, one of the other servants Angharad was talking about. She's gotten surgery, too. She has silvery white hair that she keeps in a ridiculous shape on top of her head. Her irises are silver, too, but darker. Her lips are light purple, her skin is completely white. She's tall, with an unnaturally tiny waist.

"Right through here," she says, gesturing into the room.

And in walk the rest of the victors.

Katniss looks tired, but better than last I saw her. Peeta seems _infinitely_ better – there's light in his blue eyes again, some shine in his blond hair, and he looks physically healthy. Haymitch's hair is a bit longer, but other than that he's the same.

Beetee hugs them first. Then Johanna. Enobaria shakes hands with them. Dodge embraces Haymitch, and introduces himself to Peeta and Katniss. And then Katniss opens her arms, walking for me. I recoil a bit; she drops them.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Last time I saw you, you were watching me get attacked by a pack of mutts from the only escape route," I say neutrally. "Forgive me if I'm not ready for a hug just yet." I shake hands with her instead. In fact, I shake hands with all three of them.

I'm not mad at her anymore. But I'm not about to get all buddy-buddy again.

Then they turn their attention to Annie. She gets a kiss on the cheek from Haymitch and Peeta, and an awkward one-armed hug from Katniss. "And this is Cillian," Annie says, raising him up a bit.

Everyone else crowds around to stare at him; they begin a debate on whether he looks like me or Annie.

Ten or so minutes later, Angharad comes back in. "Lunch is ready. If you will follow me." And we do.

"Did you work here when the Snows lived here?" Enobaria asks.

"Yes, madam," she says. "Citlalli, Osiris, and I have been working here for about seven years each. There were also two others."

"What happened to them?" asks Peeta.

"President Coin had them executed early on in her reign." She stops in front of a set of white carved doors with elegant silver knobs. She throws them open and directs us to our seats. "Mrs. Odair," she says to Annie. "If you like, I can take Cillian for a nap. He'll be just next door."

Annie looks at me; I nod. "Sure." She hands him over, and off they go.

Osiris – a tall, slim man with neatly combed evergreen hair and chartreuse eyes – brings in lunch. Beef burgers, fresh fruit, mashed potatoes, and a mess of things that even victors have only had a few times. In the Capitol, this is a regular meal. In the numbered districts, this is a feast.

As we eat, the lovebirds try to acquaint themselves with Dodge, who they never knew was a person.

"Which Games did you win, again?" asks Peeta.

"Seventy-first," he replies.

"And why didn't we hear anything about you being alive up until now?" Katniss asks, adjusting her braid.

Everyone awkwardly adjusts themselves or clears their throats or scratches a nonexistent itch.

Haymitch is the one to break the silence. "I think that's a story for another time."

Annie and Dodge are civil to each other. She won't let him touch Cillian, and she doesn't trust him with anything. But at least she's not at his throat anymore.

We spend the rest of the meal mostly in silence.

Nine victors. Having a friendly lunch in the dead president's old mansion. Waiting for the reaping to be televised.

I haven't missed the Games.**  
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	2. Challenge

**Chapter two! I realize that the chapters in this story are going to be a bit longer than usual, but not by much. Just a heads-up. Also, this one isn't super exciting.**

**Challenge**

(ANNIE)

_The moment the guards are gone, I'm on my feet, running for him. "Broadsea!" I say desperately. I put my hands on his face but he doesn't respond._

_His hands are bound above his head, chained to the wall. He's just hanging there because his legs are too weak to hold his weight. His eyes are shut; he's not moving. The deep, long gash the Peacekeepers cut in his abdomen is bleeding so much. Too much. He's practically _painted_ in his own blood._

_I manage to unchain him, and he slides down to the ground. "Broadsea, please," I beg. Nothing. I grab the little canteen Doctor Herr gave us and force him to drink. He starts coughing. Then he groans. "Keep drinking. Come on."_

_His eyes start to flutter. "Annie . . ." he manages._

_"I'm here," I gasp._

_He winces and looks down at his wound. Then he curses. I grab a scrap of cloth and press it against the wound. And I start to cry. "Did they hurt you?"_

_I shake my head, sniffling. "No." They just made me watch as they cut him open and tortured him with knives. I had to listen to him screaming. They told them they would stop. All he had to do was tell him what they wanted to know. He told them to go to hell. And they started hurting him again._

_"Then don't cry," he says quietly. "Not for me. I'm not worth your tears."_

"Annie? Sweetheart?" Finnick says. I open my eyes and find him hovering over me, gently wiping away my tears. Cillian is crying softly from his cradle. "It's okay now. We're all okay. Don't be scared. Don't worry." He keeps talking to me in that soothing tone until I calm down. "Don't cry, sweetie."

I wipe my eyes and look around. "Cilly. He must be hungry."

"I'll get him." Finnick climbs out of bed and retrieves the baby. I pull myself up to sit as Finnick hands him to me. "Are you all right?"

I nod. "Bad dream."

"Annie." He sets his hand on my knee. "You can tell me about it. You know that, right?"

"I know. I just . . ." I trail off.

"I understand." He smiles and nods. Pretending it doesn't bother him. But I know that it does. "I love you, Annie."

[LATER]

The government wants all us victors to wear our crowns to the Opening Ceremonies. It's symbolic or something. I destroyed mine when I go it, so they have me wear Mags's instead. I nearly cry when they put it on.

Johanna and I won't let the stylists put necklaces on us; Peeta refuses to wear a tie or button his shirt up all the way. Anything on our necks reminds us of the shock collars we wore in prison.

They've spared no expense on our wardrobe. Dodge is clad all in black, Peeta and Haymitch wear coal-colored suits, Beetee's dressed in steely gray, and Finnick's suit is the color of the sea at night. Enobaria's dress looks like marble. Johanna's is a beautiful green. Mine's the color of the sea before a storm. And of course, Katniss's dress makes her look like she's burning.

We take our seats in chronological order by district. The box we're in also contains Gamemakers, department heads, and representatives from the districts without victors. One of the department heads is Plutarch.

There's some small talk, then President Paylor calls us all to attention. She's wearing a blue dress, big earrings, and a diamond necklace. She's gorgeous. I never noticed before.

Then the tributes come rolling out in their chariots.

Most of the tributes are relatives of the old regime. Snow's granddaughter, Circe. Gamemakers' children. Lazarus and Telemachus Belisarius's – the old Head Peacekeeper and the prison warden – niece and nephew were reaped, too.

Paylor gives her introduction. She explains that two children were chosen by each district – not including 13. And on. And on. And on.

Afterwards, we're invited to her home for dinner. The dinner guests include everyone that sat in the box with us. There's also a handful of Capitol-born people now involved in the new government.

"I feel the Capitol should have an industry," Beetee says as a servant pours him wine.

"They do," says Finnick. "Self-mutilation." He looks at me and smiles.

"I agree with you, Beetee," says Paylor. "They use most of the country's resources and give nothing back."

"Annie?" Plutarch says. I snap my head up. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," I say. "It's been too long."

"It has. How's your boy?"

"Cillian? He's wonderful," I say. "Absolutely adorable."

I look over at Finnick, who's talking to Johanna. She she's looking at him the way I do – with adoration in her eyes and a smile on her face and color in her cheeks. She's looking at him like she's in love with him. He winks at her, seemingly oblivious to all the affection in her gaze.

"He looks just like his father," I continue quietly.

"I'd like to meet him sometime," Plutarch says.

"You should." I snap out of my semi-trance and turn back to him. "He'll like you."

By the time we're done with the main course, the small-talk has ceased and the serious discussion has begun.

"There is still opposition in the Capitol," says Paylor.

"I thought it was destroyed," says Enobaria.

"Nothing is ever completely destroyed," Peeta says. "It's just . . . delayed for a while."

"Well, what are you planning to do about it?" asks Haymitch.

"Nothing," Paylor replies. "Not until they give me occasion to."

Finnick wraps his arm around my waist and kisses me on the head. "How are you?" he asks quietly.

"I'm okay," I say. "You?"

"Bored," he says. "Painfully bored." He leans back in his chair and stretches his arm across the back of mine.

I smile. "Poor Finnick. This must be torture for you."

He picks up his glass of wine from the table and takes a sip. "I know. The fact that I've lasted through the first two courses is nothing short of a miracle."

I giggle as servants come out with dessert – artfully crafted chocolate pastries, slices of cake with fruit shavings on them, really anything you can think of.

"Plutarch, I assume you'll be reprising your role as Head Gamemaker?" Johanna says.

"Indeed I am," he says, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "I also have one or two representatives from each of the districts without surviving victors. And the president and I were hoping that you – you, being the victors – would assist us."

"Shouldn't the arena have been designed already?" Beetee asks.

"We're working off of blueprints that the old regime had," says Plutarch. "We've got everything up and running, but we need more, ah, challenges."

"Challenges?" I ask.

"Like the monkeys and the jabberjays from last year," Finnick says to me. He winces at the word _jabberjays._

I don't reply.

"I won't help you," Beetee says. "Perhaps one of the victors that voted yes will. But I cannot."

There's silence for a short while before Katniss asks, "Would the vote have turned out differently? If Finnick and Dodge had been part of it?"

"No," says Dodge. "I don't know what Finnick would've done, but I would've voted yes."

"I'll help you," Johanna says thoughtfully, staring at her glass of wine.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Enobaria asks.

"Plutarch," she says, looking at him. "I'll help you with the challenges."

Finnick looks at her, stricken. "Johanna."

"You would've helped," she says. She looks like she wants to say more, but stops herself at the last moment.

"I'll help," Haymitch pipes. "But I'll need some more wine first."

When the meal is officially finished, we're all invited into the library for coffee; Johanna, Haymitch, Enobaria, Dodge, and Katniss are hauled away by Plutarch to help him brainstorm. The rest of us go back to the mansion.

I hop into the shower. When I come out, I find Finnick on the bed. He's holding Cillian in one hand and a little rattle in the other. He waves it over Cilly's head, making him giggle. "What's this?" Finnick asks, giving the rattle a shake. "It's pretty funny looking, isn't it?" Finnick looks up when he hears me laughing. He grins at me.

I climb onto the bed. I end up on my knees behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and chin resting on his collar bone.

"He's adorable and he knows it," Finnick says proudly. Cilly's big blue eyes open widely as he watches Finnick move the rattle. "Don't you, buddy?"

Just then, Cillian starts crying. "He's probably hungry," I say. "Give him to me."

Finnick hands him over somewhat reluctantly. "He likes you better."

"No he doesn't. You're just jealous – as usual," I tease. There's a pause. "What did Johanna mean when she said you would've helped with the challenges?"

He sighs. "I don't know. I stopped trying to understand her a very long time ago."

"She thinks she understands you," I say without looking at him. "She thinks she knows you better than I do."

"The sad truth is she hasn't really known me in years. She's still my friend, but . . ."

"What drove you apart?"

"Things changed; I stopped being miserable. She didn't," he says as I hand Cillian back. He walks toward the cradle and starts rocking him to sleep.

"You were miserable?" I ask quietly.

"Yes," he says, still looking at Cilly. "About as miserable as a person can get."

"What made it stop?"

He smiles. "Mags was the one who started pulling me out of the rut when I was almost nineteen. And then you came along. And you know the rest."

No. Not all of it. I'm not even sure how much. "You never talk about your life before we met."

"What's to tell?" He puts Cillian in his cradle; he turns back and crosses his arms over his chest. "You never talk about yours either."

"You know about mine. My brother and I lived on a boat with our father until he died. Then we moved in with our aunt and cousins. She made nets for a living and we'd help her."

"I thought you and Britton stole food," Finnick says accusingly.

"We did. But we were never starving." I sigh. "We stole bread _once_. Britton got caught, and the Peacekeepers whipped him."

Finnick tightens his jaw. He's been looking right at me, but I don't think he was listening. "Go to bed. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow."**  
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	3. Madness

**Annie relapses! I've wanted to do this for AGES.**

**Madness**

(FINNICK)

It's almost nine o'clock when I roll over in bed, tossing my arm across the blankets. I expect it to land on Annie, but there's nothing there. I force my eyes open and spot a piece of paper lying on her pillow. I pick it up and read it.

_Dear Finnick, went for a walk. Should be back soon. Love, Annie_.

Annie's nightmares have started again. I keep waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of her sobbing. She's in a delicate state right now; there's a higher chance that she'll relapse when she's like this. I have to keep her calm and comfortable.

I sit up and look over at the cradle where Cillian seems to be having an intense debate with himself in gibberish. I get dressed and hoist him up. "Son. Glad to see you're still alive." He gurgles in reply. I carry him downstairs.

Beetee and Peeta are in the library. The other victors must still be asleep.

"Morning," I say.

"Hi, Finnick," Peeta says. "Hello, Cilly."

"Want to hold him?" I ask, eager to pass him off. Peeta nods; I set Cilly in his arms and lay back on one of the couches.

"How did you sleep?" Beetee asks me.

"As well as a man with a new baby _can_ sleep," I say, yawning.

He laughs a little. "Ah, yes. And how is fatherhood?"

"Better than I expected," I say. "I like him a lot more than I thought I would."

Peeta smiles. "I'm jealous – you've got a whole family . . ."

I adjust myself on the couch, throwing my arm over my eyes. "You'll have one eventually. But you're only eighteen. Enjoy your youth. God knows I wasn't able to."

"You're what – twenty-five?"

"Mmm-hmm. And Annie's only twenty-one." I sigh and realize I'm about to spill my guts. "And as much as I love Cilly, I do wish we'd had time to just . . . be married, you know? In our own house, not being bothered by the Capitol."

"You are awfully young," Beetee says. "Both of you."

"What was it like when Annie was pregnant?" asks Peeta.

"I was an ass," I reply. He gives me a look, and I'm reminded of that time in District 13 when he threatened to steal my wife from me if I didn't treat her well. "I was nice to Annie, of course. I took care of her – made sure she was happy and had everything she needed. But I never asked about the kid. I didn't care. Didn't want it, didn't love it, didn't care."

Johanna walks in, tying her bathrobe shut. "Good morning." She rubs her eyes and walks over to Peeta and Cillian. "Hi, baby!" She turns to me. "Can I hold him? Please?"

"Yeah," I say. "Just don't drop him."

The other victors wake just before breakfast. Annie returns halfway through the meal, looking more worn-out than I've seen her in months. Did she sleep at all last night?

"Are you okay?" I ask quietly as she sits down beside me.

"I will be," she says with a false smile.

The day passes slowly. Since the tributes are all in training, there's really nothing for us to do. I try to keep Annie relaxed. I even try to talk her into taking a nap. She refuses.

After dinner, we're in the library. Peeta and Katniss are playing with Cillian, Johanna and Beetee are playing chess, and Annie and I are in an armchair, watching the rest of the room. The others are off in other parts of the house.

"Come upstairs," I say to Annie.

"Why?" she asks.

"I don't know. We can take a bath or something."

And so we go upstairs. Annie goes into the bathroom to run the bath; I turn on the television and start removing my shirt.

The newscaster is talking about past victors. I'm not really paying attention to it. Not until she mentions Broadsea. ". . . the same platform that Broadsea Redreef was executed on less than a year ago. The twenty-eight-year-old was tortured to death on public television after being found guilty of treason. President Coriolanus Snow sentenced him to–"

That's when I hear a little gasp behind me.

I should've noticed when I didn't hear the water running anymore. I should've checked to make sure Annie wasn't paying attention. I shouldn't have turned the television on in the first place. But I didn't. And she heard it. And if I don't stop it, she's going to relapse.

In less than a heartbeat, I turn of the television, grab my wife, and sit her down next to me on the bed. "Annie, look at me." I put my hands on her face. "Look at me."

"Can't breathe," she whispers, closing her hands around my wrists. "Can't breathe."

"Yes you can," I say forcefully. "Don't force it." I try to help her take a deep breath, but it doesn't work.

"Can't breathe." Tears start spilling from her wide eyes.

"Yes you can," I say again. "You can!" But I can already feel her slipping away.

She presses her eyes shut. "Make it stop."

"Annie –"

"Please make it stop."

"Just stay with me, Annie. Stay with me."

"I can't. I –" She squeezes my wrists.

"Yes, you can!" I shout. "But you have to _fight it_!"

But she can't fight anything when she's like this. "Make it stop, make it _stop_!"

"Stay with me," I whimper. "Stay with me, Annie. Please. Please stay."

She makes a high-pitched sound and starts trying to tug my hands away so she can cover her ears. "Stop it! _Stop it_!" She's addressing the voices in her head. Not me.

I'm crying now. "Please don't leave. Please stay with me. _Please_!"

And then she screams. I drop my hands in defeat; she glues hers over her ears. And she screams again. And again. And again.

I've lost her. Lost her to her memories, hallucinations, and whatever else she keeps buried inside. They've taken her away from me. Forced her to hide inside her own head, leaving me here. Alone. Just like they have dozens of times before. Just like they will continue to do until the day she dies. Because there's no cure for this. There's no _cure_ for madness.

All I can do is wrap my arms around her and hold her against me. But it doesn't do her any good. I doubt she even knows I'm here. But I hold her anyway. While she screams and I cry. I hold her.

At first, her screams are high-pitched and loud and downright unnerving. But they start to die out as she loses energy. Relapsing is physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting for her – and me. She can sleep for days afterwards. And I stay awake for almost all that time.

Eventually, she stops screaming. Then she cries until she can't anymore. Falls asleep. I myself have been crying this whole time; my tears stop a few moments after hers. This relapse was pretty long – somewhere between fifteen and twenty minutes. Her longest one lasted over half an hour. It took her eleven days to recover. There's no way to estimate how long it'll take this time.

I carefully shift so that I'm leaning against the headboard. Then I rest my chin on the top of her head and try to calm myself down.

Here's the thing about relapsing – it's like there's a wall in her mind. Most of the time, she keeps the bad things on the other side of it. But she has to work to keep it up. Sometimes it comes down. And the memories, they sort of attack her. Afterwards, she hides in the deepest corner of her mind – that's why she's so different while she recovers. Or rather, until the memories migrate back behind that wall. She's not in control – not really.

We stay there for I don't know how long before Dodge pops his head in. "What?" I say coldly, not even bothering to look at him. I know how red and puffy my eyes must be; I don't even try to hide it. I don't give a damn.

"We heard Annie," he says. His voice is measured. Planned. He knows how aggressive I get when Annie relapses. "I came up to check on you."

"Gee, thanks," I spit.

He ignores my remark and continues in that same voice. "Do you need anything?"

Actually, yes. "Water." He nods and turns to go. "Wait." He does. "Ask Angharad to look after Cillian for a while. I'd do it myself, but I can't take care of both at once."

"Got it."

"And make sure she has baby formula. And extra blankets. And –"

He nods. "I'll make sure."

I look him in the eye. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm just atoning for my sins."

His _sin_, rather – just one.

Annie, still half-asleep, puts her hand on my chest and pushes me. We have our own little language made out of gestures and actions. Right now, she's trying to tell me that I'm holding her too tight. So I loosen my grip on her.

But this isn't what she wants. She whimpers loudly and clutches to me as tightly as she possibly can. She keeps whimpering and wriggles and hides her face in my chest. I tighten my arms around her; she stops. "I'm sorry, sweetie," I whisper. "I misunderstood you. I'm sorry."

Annie tries again, putting her hand on my chest and pressing just with her fingertips. Still holding onto her, I lie down. Thankfully, she relaxes.

"Sleep, Annie," I whisper, rubbing her back. "I got you. Go to sleep." I start humming a lullaby.

She falls into deep sleep. Me – I stay awake, humming and murmuring comforting things.

I wonder when she'll get back to normal.

I wonder _if_ she'll get back to normal.

**Yeah. I really wanted to write that.**


	4. Remember

**I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T POSTED! It's exam season, and my teachers have decided to cram in as many essays, projects, and tests as they can before exams start. I will be done after Wednesday and I will post A LOT MORE OFTEN.**

**Remember**

(FINNICK)

"Hey, hey," I say softly. Annie keeps kicking and moaning. "Annie –" She shouts; I pull her up and hold her against me. She tries to push me away and wriggle out of my arms. But I hang on. "Stop it," I whisper, rocking her. "I'm not gonna hurt you." She struggles a bit. "Stop it." She stops fighting and relaxes. I set her back down on the bed.

Her eyes are open for the first time in two days. Her hair's a tangled mess, there are shadows under her eyes, and – well, she just looks wild. She stares up at me with her bright green eyes.

I lean across her and brush her cheek with my hand. "Are you okay?" She manages to shrug. I smile. "It's good to see you again."

She smiles a little and reaches for me. She gets me by the hair and pulls me down next to her. I lay on facing her on my side, waiting for her to give me further direction. She takes her thumb and forefinger and starts twisting little sections of my hair between them.

It's been two days since Annie's relapse. This is her third nightmare since then. She's getting better, though. I've been running back and forth between her and Cillian; I think I've gotten about an hour of sleep.

Annie fidgets with my hair for about five minutes before there's a knock on the door. She stays completely still as I cross the room. I open the door just enough for my entire face to be visible. It's Peeta. "They want you downstairs," he says.

"You might not have noticed, but this isn't a great time," I say.

"Don't take it personal, hoss," Dodge says. I open the door wider so I can see him. He's standing behind and to the right of Peeta. "He's always in a bad mood when Annie's like this."

"She can hear you, you know," I spit. Then, in a lower tone of voice, "I'll ask her." I shut the door and turn back to my wife. "I'm gonna go downstairs for a little while. Will you be okay?"

She purses her lips and nods.

Downstairs, everyone is gathered in the dining room. Plutarch is there. And so is Angharad, who's been good enough to look after Cilly. I sit down, and she sets him in my arms.

"Hey, buddy," I say. I haven't seen him since yesterday. "How ya doing?" He yawns.

"So, as you know, the Games start tomorrow," says Plutarch.

"What?" Haymitch says. "Are we expected to go to that?"

"Actually, yes," he says. "And there's a dinner party at the president's home afterwards."

"A dinner party?" I ask. "For the Hunger Games? There's a dinner party for the Hunger Games?"

"There always is," says Enobaria. "You've been to them."

"I don't remember them much either," Johanna says. "We were too high."

There's an awkward silence. I hate it when Johanna brings up my drug days.

"Yes, well – when do we have to leave?" Beetee asks.

"Ideally, at six o'clock," Plutarch replies.

"I'm not going," I say.

"Yes you are," Haymitch says. "We're still the Capitol's pets."

"I'm a pet with a newborn baby and a mentally unstable wife. Try me."

[LATER]

"No."

"Finnick, I'm not doing this to make you miserable," Plutarch says. "We need the victors to be there."

"I don't give a damn about your effing television program!" I shout. "I need to stay here."

"That servant girl will look after Cillian," he says.

"She's overworked as it is."

"The other two will help her."

"What about Annie?" I say. "Hmm?

"She's getting better; she can look after herself. Why don't you just have her take care of Cillian?"

I wish he hadn't asked me that. I don't know if she remembers where she is or why she's here. If she can't remember that, she may not remember that she has a baby. She might not even recognize him. She might not recognize her son.

"I just can't, Plutarch," I say.

And then, for the first time ever, I see Plutarch get annoyed. "I know you think I'm being selfish, Finnick, but I'm not. _I_ don't need you – I don't even _want_ you there. You are broody, smug, and often rude. But your country needs you there. Nobody knows what the hell to do right now, and they're looking to victors as an example." He sucks in a breath. "I have to fight just so _Annie_ can stay behind – even when she's like this. I'm doing my best here."

There's a pause before I say, "Broody?" I smirk.

He gives me a fond glare. "Shut up and put on a suit," he mutters before walking off.

I pull together a sandwich and head upstairs. Annie is sitting up tall in bed, staring at something only she can see. She turns her head when she hears the door close. "I brought you something to eat," I say, holding up my plate. I hand it over and she starts devouring her meal.

She rips off a mouthful of her sandwich and looks at me. _What is it_? she signs.

See, Annie and I have had our own little sign language practically since we met. She didn't say a single word for six months after she won the Games. We spent so much time together that I was able to understand what she wanted to say.

I hesitate; I don't really want to answer. Yes, she's recovering faster than usual this time, but I still don't want to leave her. "I gotta go somewhere for a few hours," I say, petting her hair. She puts down her food and slows her chewing. "Will you be okay?"

She pulls her mouth to one side and thinks for a moment before nodding.

An hour later, I'm dressed and ready to go. "How do I look?" I ask. Annie nods enthusiastically. "I think so, too." There's a knock on the door. "Come in."

Johanna pokes her head in. "Hi. Uh. Finnick, we need you."

"We aren't leaving yet," I say.

"Yeah. This is about something _else_."

"Okay," I say, unsure of what she's hinting at. I turn to Annie. "I'll be back in a second." Johanna starts trotting downstairs; I follow. "What?"

"It's Cillian."

"What about him?"

She opens the doors to the library and Cilly's cries come flowing out. Peeta's sitting on an armchair, rocking him. Katniss, who's kneeling just beside the chair, is singing to him. They're both dressed for the interviews.

"Give him to me." I yank him away from Peeta. "Is he hungry? Does he need to be changed? What is it?"

"He's got a fever," says Peeta.

Fever? I didn't know babies should get sick. Another reason why I shouldn't be a father.

"What does Angharad say?" I snap.

"It's her day off," Johanna says.

Of course it is.

I curse, still rocking Cillian. I've got no choice now. The kid needs his mother. "Goddamn it." I sigh and bring him upstairs; he's still screaming. Annie's kneeling in the center of our bed, wide awake and completely alert. She must've heard Cilly.

I'm not sure what to say. So I just walk over to the bed and hold him out to her.

She looks at him for a while. Just looking. She finally scoops him out of my arms and into hers. And keeps on looking. Cilly's cries die down as soon as he's with Annie. Slowly, she starts rocking him back and forth, back and forth.

Johanna, who's leaning against the doorframe, says, "I think she remembers."

**Yeah, I'm not gonna lie, that was awful. But it's been more than a month and I had to post. Next one will be better! Don't lose faith!**


	5. Question and Answer

**Thank you so much for your patience! I'm writing another story right now (not a fanfiction) and I'm pretty into it, but I'll keep updating. I'm sorry that it's been so infrequent; I promise to pull it together and give you guys a good story.**

**Question and Answer**

(FINNICK)

One boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen have been selected by lottery – which everyone knows was rigged – to participate in the 76th Annual Hunger Games. Rather than the districts giving tributes to the Capitol, the Capitol is giving tributes to the districts.

"That little one in the District Two section won't last five minutes," I hear Johanna mutter.

I ignore her and look at the tributes to District 4. Their names are Desdemona and Avalon Belisarius. They're siblings. Niece and nephew of Telemachus and Lazarus Belisarius. Telemachus tortured Annie, Johanna, and Peeta in prison. Lazarus was the Head Peacekeeper in District 4 – he was very strange.

There were seven children during Telemachus and Lazarus's generation: three boys and four girls. Annie's brother shot Lazarus. I killed Telemachus. The other brother is a schoolteacher or a scientist or something. Two of the females were involved in the Snow administration; one defected to our side and the other is in prison. The third sister died during extreme cosmetic surgery around the sixty-ninth Games. The last sister is a former patron of mine; she's Desdemona and Avalon's mother. From what I remember of her, she's nothing more than a doormat.

Desdemona and Avalon have another brother and another sister – the sister is older, and the brother is younger. They're not within the proper age range to be reaped. (And in case you were wondering no, I am not the father. Of any of them.)

"Those two are siblings," I hear Dodge say to someone.

Peeta whispers, "Like Cashmere and Gloss."

I knit my brows together. "One of them will probably end up killing the other." I take a deep breath. "Shall we take our seats?"

The District 1 tributes are fat. The ones from 2 look far too young. 3's are average. Ours are . . . I don't know. The pair from 5 and one from 10 aren't worth remembering. The tributes for 6 look so out of place it's not even funny. One of 7's might have a chance. 8 and 9 are average. The other kid from 10 might actually have a chance of winning. I barely take notice of 11's. Nobody cares about the 12's boy. Their girl is Snow's granddaughter, Regina.

She doesn't look happy. Or afraid. Anything, really. She's about fifteen years old, with pin-straight, brassy-blonde hair that stretches nearly to her waist. She's shapeless, colorless, and really free of any physically interesting traits. She's not unattractive, but she's nothing special either. Her mother's the younger of Snow's two daughters. Her father is unknown – most people guess that it's a victor-prostitute. My best guess is Hoggun from 5, who killed himself about three years back.

They're all wearing suits or dresses and pounds and pounds of makeup. Soon they'll be wearing specially made uniforms and blood. Lots and lots of other people's blood. If these were district kids, this would make me sad. But they're Capitol kids. And it doesn't make me feel sad. Doesn't make me feel happy, either. It doesn't make me feel anything at all.

I'm not sure if Caesar Flickerman is dead, or imprisoned, or getting roasted in a tanning bed but he's not the master of ceremonies this year. Instead it's an androgynous person named Sterling Greige Granois. It's a fitting name. Medium skin, pewter hair, twinkling golden eyes. Other than that he/she/whatever has a defined jaw and cheekbones with rosy cheeks, an average nose, and thin lips.

Sterling Greige Granois welcomes everyone and gives a lovely little speech. From what Sterling Greige Granois says, it sounds like Sterling Greige Granois is a man in his mid-thirties. He's kind of like Caesar – they both have non-irritating voices and pleasant demeanors.

The interviews get underway and it's clear that the Capitol is not happy. The audience, containing only Capitol citizens, makes no sound. They show no emotion. They just glare up at the victors, sitting up above everyone else.

I don't sympathize. This is one Games. Only twenty-three will die. Over seventy-five years, the numbered districts have lost around seventeen hundred children in the Hunger Games. The Capitol is a district of this country, too. It just doesn't have a number.

The tributes themselves are either terrified or pissed off. Or both. None of them have prepared for anything like this. And it's more than likely that many of them know each other. I doubt they'll enjoy killing each other.

"I think that girl is older than eighteen," Beetee says, indicating the female representative of 3 with his head.

Enobaria shakes her head. "Her nineteenth birthday is in two weeks."

"Why do you know that?" Dodge asks.

"The packet Plutarch gave us?" she says. "The one with the tributes' profiles? Their skills? Their scores? Am I the only literate one?"

"Don't brag, Enobaria," I say. "Only pretty people can be snobs. Women your age have to be nice."

She snorts. "And men like you should stick to streetwalking."

"Please shut the eff up," Johanna says, rubbing her forehead.

"You don't look so good," I say. I know Johanna well enough to tell that something's wrong. Always. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Never better," she says. "Excuse me." She stands up and practically flees the sitting area.

There's silence after Johanna goes. I sigh. "For the record, I was a courtesan. Never a streetwalker."

The boy for District 1 is, as I said, fat. He's nice, but a coward. He makes a lot of jokes at his own expense. I decide that I like him. The young girl representing 2 could have a lot of sponsors, but she's a complete brat.

Finally, it's Desdemona's interview. She has bluish-black hair, muddy brown eyes, and tan skin. She's very tall and rather intimidating. Eighteen, I'd guess. She smiles and waves like a good tribute should. She's pleasant and polite. Seems nice enough. I'm sure she'll have plenty of sponsors from the districts.

"How does it feel to be a tribute to District Four?" Sterling Greige Granois asks. (I'm calling him by his full name because it is so . . . interesting. I can't stand to part with a single syllable of it.)

"It's fine – so far," Desdemona says. "I'm not happy to be a tribute, but Four seems like a nice enough district."

Then Sterling Greige Granois asks her the closing question he's been asking the other tributes. "Do you think that the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games is fair?"

Desdemona takes a deep breath and exhales in a sigh. "What the Capitol did wasn't fair to them. That's all I can say." And then the buzzer goes off and her interview ends.

Johanna comes back just as Avalon's interview starts. "Are you okay?" I ask as she shuffles past me.

"I'm fine." She doesn't look sick anymore. She just looks tired. Ever since she was imprisoned, she looks tired. I don't know if she sleeps anymore.

Avalon is an ass. He insults the districts, the other tributes, and us victors every chance he gets. I hate this kid. I really do.

He looks a little like his sister – tall, bluish black hair, mud-colored eyes. That's where the resemblance ends. He's got broad shoulders and chiseled features. He's got a little muscle on him, but not much. I'd say he's about seventeen.

"How would you feel if you won these Hunger Games?" Sterling Greige Granois asks. I've noticed that he doesn't ask about the tributes' families or anything like that – he just focuses on the tributes themselves.

Avalon shrugs. "I wouldn't be as bitter as they are. Hopefully I wouldn't be prostituted. Or go mad. Or kill the president."

Up to this point, Sterling Greige Granois has kept a neutral yet sympathetic face throughout the interviews. But when Avalon says this, he falters for a moment. For a second, he looks like he can't believe what he just heard.

I brush off the comment about insanity. It wasn't necessarily directed at Annie; all the victors have gone insane in one way or another, and everybody knows it. But that comment about the president . . .

I look over at Katniss. Her jaw is clenched and her grayish eyes are narrowed. Peeta takes her hand and whispers something in her ear; she relaxes.

When asked if the Games are fair, Avalon says: "Absolutely not." That's it. Nothing else. He had time to say more, but he didn't.

The female tribute for 6 is the daughter of a doctor. Or should I say, _the_ doctor. The doctor that takes care of victors when they come back from the arena. The doctor that rebuilds ears, replaces lungs, removes limbs. I honestly didn't understand why people wanted revenge on him at first. But District 6 collectively blames him for getting their victors addicted to morphling. She's also Snow's goddaughter.

Her name is Prudence. She's thirteen or fourteen. Huge, candy-apple red glasses. Frizzy red hair. Small, very small. Something about her – how she blinks or wrinkles her nose or taps her fingers – reminds me of Beetee. I look over at him. He scratches his head through his brown-and-gray speckled hair. He sees the resemblance, too.

The girl for 7 could have a chance. Her name is Laertana, she's eighteen, and I have no idea why she was chosen. None of her relatives have screwed anybody over. No enemies. She may actually have been chosen randomly. She's got as much personality as my shoe, but she has promise and a lot of freckles. The boy for 10 has a chance, too.

Then it's the moment we've all been waiting for: Regina's interview.

There's complete silence as she takes her seat. Sterling Greige Granois treats her like every other tribute. Same questions. Same everything. He's very professional.

"How does it feel to be a tribute?" he asks.

Regina shrugs. That's it. She doesn't say or do anything else. Just raises and drops her shoulders.

"How do you feel about representing District Twelve, specifically?"

"I'd probably feel the same if I were representing any of the others," she says in a raspy voice.

Sterling Greige Granois is getting frustrated. "Could you expand on that?"

"I've never been to any of them. I've never met anyone from them – I've just seen the victors on television. I feel nothing for them."

"How would you feel if you won these Games?"

"Like the current victors do. Angry." She looks up at our sitting area. "Vengeful."

Regina's answers to the rest of the questions are as short as possible. She's not a happy camper. She keeps glancing up at our area. We glare right back at her.

Finally, Sterling Greige Granois asks her the big question: "Do you think it's fair to have a final Huger Games with Capitol children?"

By this point, she's tired of answering questions. You can tell her patience is gone. "Life isn't fair. Why should the government be?"

And then her interview's over.

**I'm going away for a while in about a week. I'll try to get another chapter out before then.**


	6. Arena

**I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to post! I never do it often enough, I know. The chapters from here on will be more exciting – or at least, I hope they will. This particular chapter is a little slow.**

**Arena**

(ANNIE)

I'm sitting on the bed beside Finnick with my knees pulled into my chest as I chew my fingernails. The volume on the television is turned so low that I can barely hear it; I don't want the noise to wake Finnick. I've got over an hour left before I have to feed Cillian again.

The analysis of this year's arena is on. Surprisingly, it's done by Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman. I was under the impression that they were both in prison, if not dead – especially since Caesar isn't the Master of Ceremonies this year. But there they sit; calm and collected like this is just a regular old Hunger Games.

The arena is a jungle. Not a jungle like last year. Last year, there was more space between the trees – which were enormous – and less animals and foliage to be worried about. You could see the sun from the ground. And the ground was flat, for the most part.

Not this year. No. This is a _proper_ jungle. It's all mountains carpeted with vines and grass and a few flowers. White-water rivers and murky canals are the only change from it – and none of it is drinkable. And the animals . . . Carnivorous insects, mostly. Butterflies with razor-sharp fangs. Wildcats the size of lobster – they say those'll make a nice meal for the tributes.

Finnick sighs in his sleep. He's lying on his stomach, arms wrapped around his pillow – he likes hugging something when he sleeps. I reach over and run my fingers through his hair. "Time to wake up," I say softly. He groans. "Come on."

"Nah-ah." He pulls the pillow over his head.

"Uh-huh!" I say.

"Why?" he says in a childlike voice, dragging out the word.

"It's almost time," I whisper.

"Already?" he asks, serious now. I nod. "Okay."

We change out of our pajamas, grab Cilly, and head down to the living room. Katniss, Beetee, and Haymitch are the only ones here. There's still twelve minutes before it starts, but still. Finnick sits with Cillian on one of the couches; I sit on the arm beside him.

"I've decided to sponsor the little redheaded girl," Beetee says.

Haymitch nods. "I thought you might."

"People from the Capitol aren't allowed to sponsor this year, right?" I ask after a pause.

Katniss nods. "All the sponsors have to be from the numbered districts."

The others trickle in over the next few minutes. Nobody makes a sound – except for Cilly, who's testing his newfound ability to making humming sounds. We all find spots to stand or sit in and stay there. Osiris comes in to offer us coffee; only Johanna and Dodge take it.

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, the sixty-second countdown has begun. The cornucopia is on top of a circular plateau devoid of most vegetation. The tributes are stationed on the plateau's edge, about a foot away from the surprisingly steep edge. The uniform this year is a skin-tight, light-material, green jumpsuit. It stretches to the tributes' wrists and ankles, even halfway up their necks. The shoes are designed for hiking and, I think, for sloshing around in water.

When there's thirty seconds left on the countdown, the girl representing 5 screams. There's a red-and-black snake slithering onto her plate. She starts to run. "No!" says the boy beside her, the fat kid for 1. But there's nothing he can do. As soon as her foot hits the ground, the mines blow her sky-high.

I put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Katniss squeezes Peeta's hand. Beetee looks away. Haymitch goes for some liquor. Nobody else even flinches.

Then the countdown is over. Usually, the tributes get off their plates as fast as they can; this time, they gingerly step off. It's only when they're sure they won't be blown apart that they pick up the pace. But none of them are running. They're inching towards the Cornucopia, looking around at each other. Plutarch must be frustrated, because he sets off another one of the mines.

Fat boy dashes forward, grabs a small pack, and moves back to the edge of the plateau. He sits, dangling his legs off the side. He tries to slowly move down, the way someone does when they're reluctantly entering cold water. He grabs onto some vines and tries to repel down the side, but that doesn't work at all. He loses his balance and starts tumbling. The little redheaded girl, Prudence, does the exact same thing.

Desdemona and Avalon have reached the Cornucopia and gotten their hands on some weapons. "Now what?" Avalon demands.

"Now you kill someone, idiot!" his sister shouts back.

"This ain't a bloodbath," Dodge says. "This is . . ."

"Pitiful," Enobaria finishes.

Johanna cocks an eyebrow at the screen. "These aren't tributes. These are idiots."

Cillian squeals when the first gong

Seven people die in the bloodbath – eight, if you count the kid that was killed by the mines. Avalon killed a boy and threw up afterwards. I threw up in the arena, but it was different. It was after the "breaking point" as my psychiatrist, Bennett, calls it. The moment when I started going crazy.

We head into the dining room for breakfast. Angharad takes Cilly; Citlalli turns on the television so we can watch the Games, but turns the volume all the way down. "That was disappointing," Johanna says. I start picking at my grape fruit rather than take part in the conversation.

"Mmm," Finnick says. "Plutarch must be pissed off."

"It as a bad idea to begin with." Beetee pushes his glasses farther up his nose. "They don't understand why this is being done to them; they don't understand that they're going to die."

"It'll just make the Capitol citizens angry," Peeta adds. "We can't handle another uprising. This country's broken enough as it is."

He's right. After Coin's death, District 13 decided to remain independent and not rejoin Panem. And for a while, people thought some of the other districts might break off too. That fear has passed for the most part. The Capitol would probably try to break away, but they need the numbered districts to survive. And we need them.

"It was a bad idea," Beetee says again. "It was all a bad idea."

[LATER]

We're awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of Cillian crying. Again.

"I just fed him twenty minutes ago!" I whimper. I'm so sleep-deprived that I'm actually on the verge of tears myself.

"I got it," Finnick yawns. "Don't worry, sweetie. I got it." He's just as tired as I am, but he's worried that I'll relapse again. So he does it. "Okay, buddy. I hear ya." Finnick lifts Cilly – still crying – into his arms and carries him back to our bed. "He must still be sick."

I roll onto my side to face them. "Put his head by your heart," I suggest. "He likes hearing heartbeats."

Finnick does as he's told, and Cillian starts to quiet down. "I'm sorry. You haven't slept properly in months."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "He's only six weeks old."

"When you were pregnant," he says. "You barely slept. First the nausea. Then the kicking."

I honestly didn't think he'd noticed. He was horrible while I was pregnant – he didn't even _pretend_ to care about Cilly. "Turn on the TV. And give me my baby." I scoot over to rest my head on his lap. He sets Cilly down on the bed in front of me and I put one of my hands on his little stomach.

On screen, Prudence and the fat boy are sitting together in a tangle of vines on the jungle floor. "I'm Yergos," the boy says, extending his hand.

Prudence giggles. "What kind of a name is Yergos?"

Yergos shrugs, laughing. "Let's make a deal," he says.

Prudence adjusts herself, nervous. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll promise not to kill you if you promise not to kill me."

"But what if it comes down to just us?"

"It won't," he says simply. He sticks out his pinkie. "Promise?"

Prudence hooks her finger around his. "Promise."


	7. Injection

**More drama in this chapter but mostly fluff. Have you guys heard the casting rumors for Finnick? Cause I heard that guy from Pirates of the Caribbean 4 was cast as him. I think I'd be okay with that. . . . Anyway, please enjoy!**

**Injection**

(ANNIE)

"Thank God for Angharad," Finnick says, yawning. She's just taken Cilly out for a walk so we can take a nap. "I wish we could bring her home with us. That woman is the only thing keeping me from going insa–" He cuts himself off when he realizes what he's saying and who he's saying it to. "Never mind."

I snort. "Nice save." He climbs back into bed and I curl up by his side. "I don't think I've ever been so tired."

"Mmm . . ." His eyes are shut.

"When do we have to get up?"

"Let's not," he yawns, adjusting himself. "Let's just not get up."

"Tempting . . . Very tempting . . ."

We doze off for a while. No more than an hour or two. When I wake up, I'm lying on Finnick. He's asleep on his stomach, face crushed into his pillow. I'm lying diagonal to him, my head and shoulders on his back. Finnick starts to stir once I sit up.

"I think we need to get up," I croak.

"No we don't," he says in a little-kid voice.

"When, then?"

He turns to me, smiling. After six years, that smile still makes my heart flutter. "Never. We never have to leave this bed if we don't want to. We can stay right here for the rest of our lives."

I smile, too. "I wish we could."

"Why can't we?" he says. "They don't need us. Let's just stay here." He runs his fingers through my hair. "Or better yet – let's jump on the next train out of here. Head home. Spend the rest of our lives on some unpopulated island in the ocean."

Finnick is not an honest man by nature. He's secretive, and a convincing liar when he deems it necessary to be so. And sometimes he says things he doesn't mean – whether they're good or bad. But he really means this. He's willing to drop everything to escape back to District 4 and live out our lives on a tiny strip of land in the middle of nowhere.

I peck him on the lips. "I want to . . ."

"Then let's do it!" he says enthusiastically. "Let's grab Cilly and go."

I look at him for a moment, chewing my lip. "Plutarch won't be happy."

"Plutarch is rarely happy."

"All right."

"Really?" He wasn't expecting me to agree. I nod; he kisses me. "I'll start packing. You go down and grab the baby." He kisses me again. "I love you, Annie."

"I love you too." I hop out of bed and change out of my pajamas into a sundress before heading downstairs.

Katniss and Peeta are sitting in the library. They're sitting right up next to each other, heads bowed in conversation. Completely ignoring the television, which is, of course, broadcasting the Games. I've never been particularly fond of Katniss, but I'm starting to warm up to her. Or, I was – but then she left Finnick to die and I don't know what to think of her.

I don't know what to think about anyone. So much has changed in the past year. Mags and Broadsea are dead. Dodge isn't my friend anymore. I'm a wife and mother. And I'm twenty-one years old.

Katniss notices me and pulls away from Peeta. "Annie. Hi."

"Hi," I say. "Sorry to bother you."

"No problem," Peeta says with a smile. "What can we do for you?"

"I'm just wondering where everybody else is."

He thinks for a moment. "Haymitch and Dodge went over to the control room to help Plutarch. Beetee's still asleep. And I've got no idea where Enobaria and Johanna are."

"Thanks," I say before making a hasty retreat. I set out in search of Angharad. As I walk past the bathroom, I hear a sharp inhale. "Hello?" I say quietly. The door isn't all the way shut; I peer through the small crack in the door.

Johanna's standing in front of the sink, facing away from me. There's a vial in her left hand. She bends over the sink; I can't see what she's doing. And then she stands up straight again. She sets the now-empty vial down on the sink. She bends over the sink again and, again, I can't see what she's doing. But when she pops back up this time, there's a rubber strip tied around her arm. She slaps the curve of her elbow a few times. And then she pulls a syringe out of nowhere. Jabs it into her vein. And pushes down the plunger.

I knock on the door.

"One second!" she calls.

"Are you okay in there?" I ask.

"Yep!" She bursts out of the bathroom with her little toiletry bag in hand. "Sorry. Had to take my medication. Crazy pills and all that." Her eyes widen when she realizes what she's said. That's twice in one day someone has used that word in front of me. "I – um – I –"

"Don't worry about it." I'm honestly not bothered by it. What annoys me is people thinking it bothers me. "Have you seen Cillian?"

"Um, I think Angharad took him out in the gardens," she replies. "I'm sorry to do this, but I've got a rendezvous in ten. Bye!"

"Bye." When she's gone, I walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. What did I just see? The glass vial she used is sitting in the sink. I pick it up. MORPHLING is written across the side in big black letters. The doctors prescribed her morphling? I didn't know that. But I'm not surprised. She has a lot to deal with . . .

"Johanna!" I call, racing out of the bathroom. I find her halfway up the stairs.

"Yeah?"

I hold out the vial to her. "You left this in the bathroom."

She takes it from me. "Thanks," she mumbles.

I've forgotten what I set out to do . . . Cillian! Right. I was looking for Cilly. I jog out to the garden.

Angharad is sitting in the middle of a flowerbed. Cilly's in one of those carry-cradles in front of her. ". . . and this little piggy stayed home . . . this little piggy had roast beef . . ." she's wiggling Cillian's toes as she says this. I clear my throat and she looks up. "Sorry, ma'am. Didn't see you there."

"No, no, I'm sorry to interrupt," I say. "I was wondering if I could steal him back."

"Of course." She hands him over, basket and all.

When I reach the room, Finnick is hastily tossing things into our bags. "Hey!"

"Hey." I set Cillian's basket down on the bed and sit beside it.

"What wrong?" he asks. "Oh, come on. You're being too quiet. What is it?"

"I just saw Johanna inject herself with morphling."

Finnick stops packing. "What?"

"But I thought doctors didn't like to prescribe morphling for out-of-hospital use."

"They don't. They're not allowed to. It's too addictive."

"Then what – Johanna's an addict?"

Finnick sits down beside me. "I don't think we can go home."

**Yeah. That's it. I know I say this all the time, but I swear the next chapter will be better.**


	8. Morphling

**So, school is starting up soon. I doubt I'll post until I get into the swing of things. Anywho, thanks for reading!**

**Morphling**

(FINNICK)

The idea of Johanna being on drugs isn't hard to grasp. After I started being sold – the same summer she won her Games – I did drugs. And as we became close, she started doing them, too. Once I stopped using, I stopped wondering about her because I'm self-centered like that.

"Finnick? Are you okay?" Annie asks. "I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have –"

I shake my head "No, I'm all right." I take a deep breath. "We have to stay. I'm sorry. But . . ."

Annie smiles. "That's okay." I can tell that she wants to say more – probably something good about staying in the Capitol. But she can't think of anything. "So . . . what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." I look at Cilly, asleep is his carrier. "Are you sure it was morphling?"

"Positive; I held the vial in my hand." She gnaws on her lip. "Has she done morphling before? Recreationally, I mean."

"Not that I know of. She stuck mostly to cocaine."

"What about you?"

I brush her hair behind her ear. "I'm clean now. That's all that matters."

Her nostrils flare. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything right this instant, Finnick. But you're my husband. We have a child together. I think I deserve to know these things."

"I just found out my best friend is abusing the most intense painkiller there is. Can we not do this now?"

"I'm not saying now – I'm saying _eventually_." Cilly stirs slightly; she pulls him into her arms and starts rocking him gently. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"I don't think I have a choice."

I decide to talk to her after I unpack all our things. It's really too bad our plan to run away won't be put into action. But I care about Johanna too much to let her do this. She's my best friend. Maybe the only real one I've got left.

I sigh heavily. I'm in front of Johanna's door, working up the nerve to knock. "Crap," I mutter. I don't want to do this. But I should. So I raise my fist and tap my knuckles against the door. "Johanna?" I call. "Johaaaaaannnnnaaaaaaaaaa?"

"Jesus Christ!" I hear her mutter. The door flies open and she's standing there with a towel in her arm and a scowl on her face. "I was about to take a shower."

Johanna can shower now? I didn't know that. One of the ways they tortured her involved something similar to a shower, and for a long time, she was afraid of water. It must've taken her a while to get to this point. I'd hate to interrupt that. Plus, it gives me an excuse to put this off a little while longer.

"I can come back –"

"You're already here." She stands aside, gesturing for me to come in.

Damn it.

"Thanks." And I walk in.

The room is a grand, modern thing in the shape of a long, thin rectangle. The wall opposite the door – the smaller walls – is entirely glass, tinted dark for privacy. There's a desk, a vanity, a couch and television, and two side tables on either side of the bed. Oh, the bed. Just the sight of it makes me tired. That's how cozy and comfortable and inviting it looks.

"I like your room," I say, sitting down on her bed.

"So do I." She tosses her towel onto the bed beside me and crosses her arms. "But you didn't come to talk about the room Snow's daughter used to live in."

"This was his daughter's room?"

She rolls her eyes. "Can you just get on with it? My hair is greasy and I have to pee."

I can't tell if her hair is greasy. I'm too surprised by the sight of her mahogany-colored hair. For as long as I've known her it's been down to her chin or shorter; she hates it getting in her way. But it's grown out enough now for her to keep it in a ponytail, which she does nearly every hour of the day. But not now. Now, it hangs loose around her shoulders.

Reluctantly, I do get on with it. "Are you still doing drugs?"

"Repeat that?"

"Are you still doing drugs?" I say again, enunciating every word.

She's weighing her options. She can lie, which I would see right through, or she can tell the truth. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you getting high?"

"No, Finnick. I'm not getting high." She's being honest. I think.

"But are you doing drugs? Even if they don't get you high?"

Something flickers across her face before her expression hardens. Resentment, maybe. Anger. Whatever it is, she is no longer a happy camper.

"You should go." Her voice is even, but I can hear the anger in it. Her nostrils are flared and her deep brown eyes bore into mine. "It's not appropriate for a married man and former whore to be alone in a bedroom with another former whore." She walks across the room and opens the door. "Out."

And before I know it, I'm just outside her room. Her door slams in my face. "Crap," I sigh, for the second time in the same place.

[LATER]

Each ant is at least the size of my fist, ranging in color from blood red to inky black. They move like a well-oiled machine, coming in slow steady waves. They're herding the tributes toward each other. And they're hungry.

"Hurry up!" Avalon shouts at his sister.

Desdemona tries to pick up the pace, but stumbles over some tree roots. Her ankle twists the wrong way as she falls, and her foot bends at an unnatural angle. And then I can see blood and the bone peeking through her skin. "Lonnie!"

He curses and makes a beeline for her. "Come on." He puts one arm around her waist and he puts hers around his shoulders. They're not quite jogging, but they're not walking either.

Annie squeezes my hand. Her eyes are glued to the television. I kiss her on the head and pull her onto my lap.

Avalon looks over his shoulder and curses again. The ants are gaining ground quickly. "Gotta hurry up, Des," he says through his teeth.

"I'm trying!" Blood is pouring from her open wound, leaving a clear trail behind them. They stumble again, and Desdemona falls. "Lonnie . . ." she moans, reaching for him.

He's a few feet away from her, chest heaving. He looks at his sister, then the approaching horde. I know that look. That's the look someone gets when they dispose of whatever humanity they have left. When they give in to their animal side.

"Lonnie, please!" Desdemona shouts. "I'm your big sister. Please."

"I'm sorry," he says, voice tight. Tears are welling up in his eyes, but his body is poised to run.

She knows pleading won't work. "You won't last ten minutes alone! You need me."

"I'm sorry," he says again. And he turns and runs.

"AVALON!" Desdemona screams his name at the top of her lungs. She starts crawling. But it's not enough.

The ants descend on her. There's a clicking noise as they call to one another, then the sound of flesh ripping, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. And then a cannon.

The cameras cut to a different part of the jungle. Yergos and Prudence running for their lives, both struggling with the effort to breathe.

Yergos doesn't notice when Prudence falls. She's not injured, I think. "Yergos, wait!" she calls. "Wait up!" She reaches out her hands and starts patting the ground around her. "I can't find my glasses!"

Beetee, who's sitting on one of the chairs near us, blanches. Katniss digs her nails into Peeta's hand; he squeezes hers back. I turn Annie away from the television, pulling her into my chest and covering her ears. I don't want her to see this. Haymitch ditches the cup altogether and goes straight for the bottle. I'm not sure what the others do. Probably something similar.

"My glasses!" she whimpers. She's starting to panic, smacking her hands out and touching nothing but dirt.

"Prudence!" Yergos has turned around. He reaches Prudence when the ants are less than two yards away. He tugs her up and they start running.

"But my glasses! I can't see!"

"Just keep running!" They run and run until they reach a murky river. "Okay, there's water. I don't know how deep it is, but we have to go through."

"I can't swim!"

"Neither can I!" He pulls her along and they wade into the river. But they're feet get caught in the mud and they're forced to slow down.

The ants stop when they reach the edge of the water. They make a lot of clicking sounds before they turn around and flee.

"What's happening?" Prudence whispers.

"They're turning around."

"I know that sound," Peeta says. "That was – that was one of the –"

"They were in the arena," Katniss finishes. "Last year. They were the bugs we heard."

I loosen my grip on Annie. "They're okay, they made it," I say to her. I look behind me and lock eyes with Johanna, who indicates the door with her head. "I'll be right back." I slide Annie off my lap and follow Johanna out of the library. She takes me upstairs, to her room. "Why am I in here?"

"Because you want some," she says as she rifles through her suitcase.

I raise an eyebrow. "Some what?" Now is not the time for her sexual advances.

She holds up a little glass bottle. The word MORPHLING is written on the side.


	9. Round 2

**I know it's been a month, and I apologize for that. It's junior year and I'm almost certain my history teacher is a sadist. Anyway, thank you so much for being patient!**

**Round 2**

(ANNIE)

I put Cillian down for a nap and try to take one myself. I'm in that middle ground between awake and asleep when somebody knocks on my door. With an internal groan, I drag myself out of bed and to the door. I open it, yawning.

"Hi, hoss." Dodge is standing there with his hands in his pockets and a neutral expression on his face. "Can I come in?"

I step aside to let him through. He stands in the middle of the room for a moment, unsure of what to do. "You can sit, you know," I say, cautiously sitting on the edge of the bed. He looks around for a moment before selecting a big lounge chair to settle into. "So? What's this about?"

Dodge removes his hands from his pockets and sets one on each knee, tapping his fingers erratically. "I thought we should talk."

"About what?"

"Us."

Us. He makes it sound like we're a couple. We're not. We never have been and we never will be. I've known him since I was five years old and he was one of my best friends – no, he was my brother. Not _like_ my brother, he _was_ my brother. And when I needed him most, he let me down. He let Peacekeepers kidnap me and drag me to the Capitol to be tortured for weeks and watch my friend suffer and die. And he's not my brother anymore.

"We've talked before," I say, voice cold. "A few months back. On the docks at home. You called me 'effed up?' Blamed Finnick for getting me captured? Blamed _me_ for Mags's death? Remember that?"

"You said you wished I'd killed myself like my grandfather did. Remember _that_?"

"Get on with it, Dodge. I don't have time for this."

He just sits there, unmoving.

"You're the one that wants to talk," I say. "So talk."

"I will," he says in a calm but sad voice.

There's silence for a moment.

"When?" I snap.

"Soon."

"Why the delay?"

"I don't know how to start."

I can't help but glare at him.

The silence continues for a good two minutes. Dodge pulls his eyebrows together and opens and closes his mouth a few times. So I decide to start talking.

"Did you even think about what would happen when you left me there and ran away from the district?" I ask. "What would happen to me in the Capitol? What would happen to _you_ if you were caught by anybody from Four? If I came back? If Finnick had come for you?"

"There was nothing left for me at home," he murmurs, looking at his hands.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

His ocean-colored eyes meet mine. There's no emotion in them. They're just empty. "Almost everybody I cared about was dead or gone by the time they came for you. I knew I wouldn't be able to beat them. And I didn't think they'd hurt you because you're . . ."

I don't bother finishing his sentence for him. "We were best friends, Dodge. We cared about each other – and I sure as hell was not dead or gone."

"You may as well have been!" he snaps, rising to his feet. Cillian stirs slightly at the noise, but doesn't wake.

"Excuse me?" I say weakly.

"You were off in your own head. You were like a baby – you couldn't do anything for yourself." He pauses to take a breath.

I can't think of anything to say. But the pause only lasts a moment before he picks up again.

"We haven't really been friends since we were fifteen. Before you went away to the Games. After that you were always cry or with Finnick or Broadsea – who was an ass, by the way. I don't understand why you cared about him."

"At least _he_ had a soul," I snarl, standing up. "You are nothing but a shell. And Broadsea never liked you. He only put up with you because you were my friend and I asked him to be nice to you."

We both know that now, all the insults we have are going to be thrown out. The reason we started fighting doesn't matter. I'm going to hit him where it hurts, and he's going to do the same to me.

"Mags's death is your fault."

"It's not!" I shout. I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, but I don't care.

"Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night? That Mags made her own choice, knowing full well that she would die if she volunteered for you? But that's just a lie ain't it? She died because you are selfish and weak, Annie. You couldn't handle it, and you were too selfish to even _try_." He stands right in front of me, glaring down. I'm positive that if I weren't a girl, he'd hit me right now.

"Do you know what they did to me in the Capitol?" I ask the question quietly, through my teeth. "Do you?!"

"Zapped you with that metal collar – same way they did Broadsea," he says.

"I was beaten every goddamn day. They made Broadsea watch. But I was lucky – what they did to him was much worse. They used machines and metal tools and I watched. If I looked away or made a noise or moved, I got collar-shocked."

He still looks pissed as hell, but I know my words are getting to him. And they will gnaw away at him for years to come.

"I watched Broadsea die screaming in pain. I was left alone for a day, maybe two, before they started on me again." I can't breathe. My lung collapsed when I was in the Games; it feels like that only a thousand times worse. "The prison warden raped me, Dodge." I can feel my mouth go dry as I say the words. "And when it was done they sent in the doctor to patch me up. When he left, they shut off all the lights so I was in complete darkness for two days without food or water."

The anger is gone from his face. From his whole body. There's just horror in him now. He barely manages to whisper, "I never would have left –"

"But you did leave me, Dodge. Snow's men tried to take me because they knew how much Finnick loves me; they succeeded because you let them. And they did all those things because that's who they are."

He just stares at me.

"When all this is over, I want you to stay away from District Four," I say flatly. "It's not your home anymore. Nobody wants you there. And apparently you don't care about anybody who lives there."

The staring continues. "Hoss . . ."

"Get out," I whisper.

"I swear, I –"

"Get _out_!" I scream at him.

Slowly but surely, he makes it to the door and opens it. He pauses there, his back toward me. "I won't bother you anymore."

I should be more kind now. But I'm not. "Good."

(FINNICK)

I'm pacing back and forth in the center of the garden. There's an impressive – and obviously expensive – stone fountain in the very middle, surrounded by flowerbeds. There are rocky pathways woven through them.

What can I do about Johanna? I can't let her do this to herself. I won't. She'll get clean whether she wants to or not.

I hear the crunch of feet over pebbles before I see him. And by the time I do, it's too late.

Dodge punches me right in the face.

I double over, grabbing my jaw. "Dodge, what the f –" I'm cut off by another punch – to my gut this time. I can't breathe for a moment. "What is _wrong_ with you?!" I say once I'm able to talk again. I spit out a mouthful of blood on the ground.

"You son of a bitch," he growls.

"What have I done now?" I ask.

"You know what."

I straighten up. "No. I really don't." There's a short silence before I ask, "Are you PMSing or something?"

He snorts. "Funny, Finnick. Effing hilarious." (The language he uses is a bit stronger than _effing_.)

"Can you please explain what the hell is going on with you right now?"

"Ask your wife," he says.

"Don't be such a little bitch, Dodge. Tell me what the hell is going –"

And he punches me again. And this time, I punch back

**Yep. Bad Ending. All shall be explained in the next chapter.**


	10. Planning

**Long time no post – sorry about that. These past couple months have been _insane_! There was the hurricane (I hope you're all doing okay after that), then there's the sheer volume of work that comes with Junior year, writer's block, new puppy (he's so cute but so energetic!), exams, etc. **

**Planning**

(FINNICK)

I swallow another lungful of air. "What the hell, man?"

Dodge and I are lying on our backs on the ground, trying to regain our breath after our battle. There's a cut on my brow that keeps bleeding into my eye. I have at least one cracked rib. An uncountable number of cuts and bruises across my knuckles and torso. I'm not sure how much damage I've inflicted on Dodge. I definitely heard more than one bone crack, though.

Dodge doesn't reply to my question.

"Hello-o?" I say, turning my head toward him.

He inhales sharply, glaring at the sky above him. "Annie told me what happened to her, Boss. While she was in prison."

Good. I would've told him myself, but it wasn't my story to share. I'm glad he knows what happened because of him. But his reaction to it isn't making a lot of sense.

"So you decide to start punching me?" I say. "I should be punching you, you selfish piece of sh–"

"Is he dead?" Dodge asks, cutting me off mid-insult.

"Huh?"

"The man who –" he cuts himself off. "The one who hurt her." The word _man_ implies something honorable or human. Telemachus didn't fit either of those categories.

"Yeah," I say simply. "He's dead."

"How?"

I breathe deeply. "I didn't have enough time or privacy to do it properly. I had to settle for strangling him." I sigh. "It was satisfying, I guess, but not nearly as good as I wanted it to be." I almost smile. "If I could, I would've drawn it out. Made him really suffer."

Dodge doesn't say anything – just sits up, resting his elbows on his knees.

"So why did you hit me?"

"Cause I figured I wouldn't get the chance to hit the one who hurt her."

"You are an idiot. Probably the biggest idiot I have ever met."

"Eff you! What happened to her is as much your fault as mine."

"God – don't start with this crap."

"Everyone you love gets hurt because of you. Have you noticed that?"

"Don't." I mean to sound angry. But I just sound tired.

"Your mom, your brothers, Mags, Annie."

Normally, I'd hit him. Or cuss at him. Something. But I can't. I don't. I just stand up and limp away before he has a chance to mention what might happen to my son.

[LATER]

I hiss as Annie dabs a wet washcloth against the cut over my eye.

"Suck it up," she mutters. "You'll be lucky if this doesn't turn into a scar."

I'm sitting on the counter by the sink in the bathroom with Annie standing in front of me, trying to clean me up. I've got my arms wrapped loosely around her.

"A scar?" I repeat. "Disgusting. How will you be able to look at me?"

"You're not funny, Finnick," she says.

"I am hilarious!" I say. "I distinctly remember you laughing at things I have said on more than one occasion!"

She glares at me.

"Come on. What's wrong?"

"You have to stop getting into fights," she says, running the washcloth under the faucet. "You have a family now. If you get hurt –" She sighs, wringing it out.

"I know." I run my fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry."

She simply motions for me to take my shirt off.

"And in my defense, he started it." I peel off my shirt, wincing.

She starts wiping a patch of dried blood. "I don't want to hear it."

"Don't be mad at me." I dip my head, trying to catch her eye. "Please?"

She exhales through her nose. "Have you figured out what to do about Johanna?"

I sigh. "Rehab seems like the best option. But you know Johanna. She'd rather . . . I don't know what she'd rather do." Annie rolls her eyes. "But she doesn't want to be in a place like that."

She purses her lips. "Well we can't let her keep up like this." She pulls a first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet beside us. "Peeta has Katniss. I have you. I just wish she had somebody to take care of her like Peeta and I do."

I grunt in reply, watching her peel open a packet of gauze. "Yeah, you really hit the jackpot," I say sarcastically. "I lot of women would pay good money for the great privilege of cleaning my wounds.

We laugh cause it's true.

"Why _did_ Dodge attack you?" She starts taping over the cut on my ribs.

"Cause he couldn't attack the person he really wanted to." We lock eyes for a moment; she understands who I mean.

**I KNOW, IT'S SUPER SUPER SHORT. I'M VERY SORRY. I just wanted to get another chapter up before Christmas. I'll try to get another one up before my Christmas break ends. DON'T LOSE FAITH IN THIS STORY. I SWEAR IT WILL GET GOOD.**


	11. Bastards

**Bastards**

(ANNIE)

"We're staying in Snow's house: Real or not real?" asks Peeta.

"Real," I say softly. I'm letting him hold Cillian, who has a calming effect on virtually everyone.

"But he's dead?"

Katniss nods.

"And Coin – she's dead too?"

Again, Katniss nods. "President Paylor is in charge now."

"President Paylor," Peeta repeats, searching his brain for a particular memory. "She's from District Eight."

See, _I've_ had problems with relapsing ever since my Games. But after we were imprisoned in the Capitol, Peeta has begun having relapses, too.

When I woke up this morning, Cillian was crying and Finnick was gone. He'd left a note saying that he went out early with Johanna to "fix things." I don't know what that means. I just know that I could really use one of his hugs.

What woke me was the sound of Peeta shouting. I don't think he's ever had a proper relapse before, so Katniss didn't really know what to do. She managed to bring him back to reality, but she needed my help – and Cilly's – to calm him down.

"Darius and Lavinia are dead," he says.

Darius and Lavinia – those two Avoxes that were imprisoned in the Capitol with us. Katniss, who knew them personally, says, "Yes."

He inhales deeply. "Broadsea is dead."

I nod solemnly. Then I ask a question that's been on my mind for quite some time. "Did you ever meet him, Peeta?"

"When they first brought us in. Before they sorted us into our different cells, we were held in one big one. Me, Johanna, and Enobaria were brought in; Broadsea was already there. He asked where Finnick was – if they got him, too, or if was with Haymitch and Plutarch. We told him that guessed the good guys got him and he relaxed." He shakes the little toy Johanna whittled in front of Cilly's face.

"What else did he say?" Now that I know they talked, I'm desperate for more information.

"It was along the lines of 'Don't tell them anything,' and it was mostly to Johanna. He knew I didn't know anything." He sighs. "I remember thinking how weird it was that he seemed happy. I didn't ask him about it, and I doubt he'd have told me if I did. But I think he was happy because he thought you and Finnick and Dodge were okay."

Peeta looks at me like he wants to ask me something else. But he doesn't.

"I wish I'd met him," Katniss says. "Broadsea."

I snort. The vast majority of people who have been in the same room with Broadsea for more than an hour would agree that he is – was – a bastard. And that's putting it politely.

Smiling, I say, "No, you don't."

_The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop myself. I don't even know if I mean it. "I love you, Broadsea."_

_He smiles. An honest-to-God, relaxed, amused smile. "No, you don't." He doesn't bother fighting as the guards bind his hands behind his back. Just keeps on smiling_.

My breath hitches at the memory. I don't even bother to excuse myself before running out of the room.

(FINNICK)

Johanna and I have been walking for nearly an hour. I keep my hands jammed in my pockets and barely say a word.

Part of me is disgusted with myself. The other part is hopeful. Because what I'm about to do is the right thing for her, even if it means she'll hate me forever.

We're walking down a cobblestone street lined with well-kept trees. "I never knew the Capitol could be so . . . _beautiful_," Johanna says in amazement.

"Mmm," I agree. I continue walking for a few more steps before I realize Johanna's stopped.

She's standing with her weight on one leg and her arms crossed. Her lips are pursed in irritation. "What is _with_ you today?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're not talking. You're not even looking me in the eye. You're so . . . I don't even know. You're just acting weird. What the hell is up with you? Are you on your period or something?"

I scrunch my face in discomfort just as a doctor in a lab coat and two orderlies come out of the building behind us. A second doctor waits by the door, holding a clipboard to her chest.

"You must be Johanna," the doctor says, flashing his pearly white teeth.

"Who wants to know?" she spat back.

He just chuckled good-naturedly. "My name is Doctor Rowbun. I'm head physician here."

"Here?" she asks. He doesn't need to answer her question; she figures it out on her own. Her hand flies out and he smacks me. "You bastard!" She lunges at me again, but the two orderlies grab her arms to hold her back.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I can't let you keep doing this to yourself." I swallow hard; there's a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. "Johanna, please understand."

"BASTARD!" she screams. The orderlies have lifted her off the ground, still holding her hands back. She kicks her feet, screaming and the top of her lungs all the while. "I HATE YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She's louder than I've ever heard it.

The tears start falling out of my eyes as Dr. Rowbun produces a syringe. "No morphling," I warn. "That's what she's addicted to."

He doesn't respond. Instead, he sticks the needle into her arm and pushes down the plunger. All the while, Johanna keeps screaming. "NO! NO!"

This isn't just anger over being put into rehab against her will. She's relapsing. I can see it in her eyes. I'm sure being locked up again in the Capitol doesn't help her mental recovery. But I didn't have a choice. This was the only thing I can do to help her.

The Capitol is safe now. She won't be hurt here. This facility has been in practice since before Snow took power. They'll take care of her. I know it.

Johanna's screams have turned to moans. She goes limp in the orderlies' arms. The doctor who had been standing in the doorway comes over to me as Johanna is carried inside.

"Hello, Finnick." Doctor Something stops a few feet away from me, still holding that clipboard to her chest.

Doctor Something, whose real name is Bennett, took care of me in District 13. I call her Doctor Something because I had trouble remembering her name, and now it's become a habit. She moved to the Capitol right before Coin and Snow died.

"Hello," I reply. I can't even force out a false smile.

"She'll be okay, Finnick," Doctor Something says. "I'm going to be her prime physician. I'll take very good care of her, I promise."

"Thank you for doing this."

She smiles. "What are friends for?" There's a small pause. "Are _you_ okay?"

I shrug. As my shoulders fall back down, a fresh stream of tears come pouring out of my eyes. "She's never gonna forgive me for this."

She puts her arm on my shoulders. "Yes she will. You're just trying to help your friend. One day she'll see that."

Johanna has been my best friend for years. I've known her longer than I've known Annie. We've been through a hell of a lot together. And I know that she will die before she forgives me for this.

Broadsea is dead. Mags is dead. Dodge, Haymitch, and Katniss all let me down when I needed them. I've just sacrificed one of the only friendships I have left.

Johanna's right. I'm a bastard.

**Yeah. That's it. I'm sorry it keeps taking me so long to update. Thank you so much for your patience!**


	12. Casualties

**This chapter is really gory and pretty sad. Just so you know . . .**

**Casualties**

(FINNICK)

The tribute – the one for District 6 or 7, I'm not sure which – swings his sword at Prudence. At the last second, Yergos throws himself on top of Prudence. The sword slices right across his abdomen. He shrieks at the top of his lungs.

You can see his guts through the gash. The tribute throws up on himself, disgusted.

Yergos is having an adrenaline rush. He uses one arm to hold his organs in his body, the other to grab Prudence. They start rushing through the jungle, trying to get away before their assailant can finish the job. They leave a clear trail of blood behind them.

They cross a shallow muddy stream. The mud tries to suck them in as they go.

"Hurry!" Prudence cries, trying to help her friend along. The murky water starts going red with blood.

By the time they make it to the far bank, Yergos just can't go anymore. He collapses on his back, using both arms to literally hold himself together. He bites down hard on his lip to keep from screaming.

I don't see what harm screaming could do him now. Everyone can tell just from looking at that gash across his belly that he's going to die. Prudence holds his hand, trying to calm his as best as she can. But it's not much.

"I'm so sorry," Prudence sobs.

Yergos opens his mouth, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to speak. An unintelligible sound comes out.

That other tribute has appeared, and is trying to wade across the stream. But he's not quick enough. The mud sucks him under, sword and all. A cannon booms.

"What?" Prudence asks. She moves her ear closer to his face so she can hear him better.

It's barely a whisper, but there's no mistaking his words. "Kill me."

Beside me, Peeta shifts uncomfortably. It's what Cato said in the 74th Games, I think. After a pack of mutts tore him apart, he begged Katniss to shoot him and put him out of his misery.

Prudence gasps. "No!"

"Please," Yergos says. "It hurts."

"I promised you. I promised that I wouldn't kill you. I pinkie-swore."

Yergos starts crying. He manages to scream. "Kill me!"

Annie slaps her hand over her mouth and flees from the room. I'd go after her, but I honestly can't move.

"Please kill me! Please!"

Prudence has two knives. She pulls one out and closes her fists around it. Her hands are shaking so terribly, I'm shocked she doesn't drop it. She holds it above her head. "I'm sorry!" And she plunges it into his heart.

Cannon.

She screams at the top of her lungs. And screams again. She falls into the fetal position.

All that screaming is attracting attention. The cameras cut to shots of several other tributes, including Avalon and Regina. They start running toward the source of the sound.

Meanwhile, Haymitch ditches his tumbler and starts drinking straight from the bottle.

Prudence is able to crawl away from Yergos's body and hide herself in a tangle of massive tree roots before the other tributes – about six in all – arrive. They immediately start attacking each other, totally unaware of Prudence hiding nearby.

In her small hiding place, Prudence starts whispering to herself. "Our father, who art in heaven, hallow be thy name –"

Beetee removes his glasses and starts rubbing the bridge of his nose. We all pretend not to notice that he's crying.

". . . and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, amen." She shuts her eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. "Please forgive me for everything I've done. And for what I'm about to do." She pulls out that second knife.

If this were a normal Hunger Games, the Capitol would blow her to bits. But this isn't a normal Hunger Games. This is to punish the Capitol. This is to make them suffer. So they don't blow her up – correction, _Plutarch_ doesn't blow her up.

Instead, he allows her to run the knife across her throat.

She starts convulsing as blood rushes out of her. Still, none of the other tributes notice. They're still too busy fighting.

My hands are shaking by the time she's dead.

The cameras change focus to the battle – specifically, on Regina. Her eyes are wide, but I can't tell if it's from fear or anger.

Avalon stabs a random tribute in the heart, killing her instantly. He pulls his sword out and looks around. Regina engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a tribute for 8. Instead of getting involved, Avalon decides to flee the scene.

Eventually, Regina gets the upper hand. She digs her nails into the tribute's throat as she strangles him. He loses consciousness pretty quickly. She yanks the knife out of Yergos's chest and plunges it into his to finish the job.

There's complete silence in the room as the cannons start going off. There are five, including the one for Prudence.

It takes me at least five minutes to walk up to my room. I still can't speak.

Annie is sitting on the bed; Cilly is lying on his back in front of her. She gently pinches and wiggles each of his toes as she chants, "This little fishy went to market, this little fishy went home, this little fishy ate a lobster, this little fishy ate none. And this little fishy went glub, glub, glub all the way home!"

I sit beside her on the bed. "Did you see?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't want to."

"Good." I look at Cillian. "I love you. Both of you."

Annie leans her head on my shoulder. "We know."

I make a promise to myself. A promise that as long as I live, no harm will ever come to my family again. That my son will never go through what his parents did. I swear it on Mags's and Broadsea's graves. No one will hurt us again.

[LATER]

I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of screaming. It's coming from outside the house. I slowly roll out of bed and walk to the window. And see that the city's on fire.

Angharad bursts into the room without knocking. "Get up!" she shouts.

Annie rubs her eyes. "Huh?"

"Get Cillian!" Angharad says.

She puts a robe on and lifts Cilly out of his cradle. "What's happening?"

"We have to get to the roof; a hovercraft is coming to get us. Hurry!"

I put my hand on the small of Annie's back and walk with her up the stairs to the roof. The other victors and servants are there, all in their nightclothes.

"Where are Haymitch and Beetee? What's happening?" Katniss demands.

Citlalli, one of the other servants, is hysterical. "We're going to die!" she sobs. "They're going to kill us!"

"_What_?" Katniss growls.

Peeta and Dodge run back into the house to find Beetee and Haymitch.

"Someone tell us what the eff is going on right the eff now!" I shout.

The male servant, Osiris, who has been trying to comfort Citlalli, answers my question. "The citizens of the Capitol are rioting."

**So, yeah. That's it. I hope you guys liked it – and sorry about the weird ending. That was very depressing for me to write. I need to go watch _Pushing Daisies_ to make myself happy again.**


	13. Riot

**APOLOGY TIME: I am so, so sorry I've been flaky about posting. I'm out of school now, so I should be posting more often. I'm also hoping to start writing stories for different fandoms. I hope you haven't lost faith in/patience with me. Thank you so much for reading!**

**Riot**

(FINNICK)

I walk toward the edge of the roof to get a better look. Sure enough, there's a wave of people slowly making their way toward us. "Damn it," I say under my breath.

Citlalli is gasping for air. "Oh, God! This can't be happening!" Having a waist as tiny as hers must mean her organs were surgically shrunk, too. Probably can't get enough air into her paltry little lungs. "Oh, God . . . " she says again, clinging to Osiris.

Osiris is panicked, too, but not as badly as she is. He keeps looking up at the sky. He has faith that the hovercraft will come for us.

I can't help but think it's a good thing Citlalli was never in the Hunger Games. Acting like that, she wouldn't even make it off her pedestal.

"Finnick! Enobaria!" Dodge calls from the house.

I curse again and walk back over to Annie. "I'll be right back. Stay here, okay?"

Wide-eyed, she nods.

Enobaria and I rush downstairs. Peeta and Dodge are dragging a half-conscious Haymitch out of his room. Bastard drank himself into a stupor.

"Get Beetee!" Peeta says.

We rush into Beetee's room. I call out his name, banging on the door.

"Move," Enobaria barks. I step away from the door and she kicks it open.

I can't see him. "Beetee!" I shout. I can hear the faucet running in the bathroom; Enobaria and I hurry in. He's lying on the floor in his undershirt and pajama pants, an empty orange prescription bottle clasped in his right fist. They're painkillers that he's been taking since he was injured by that electric shock in the arena. His glasses are still on his face, but one of the lenses is shattered. "Beetee, no," I say, falling to my knees. "No, no, no, no."

He isn't dead. He can't be. There are too many dead victors already and he can't be another one. I won't allow it.

"Is he dead?" Enobaria asks quietly.

I press two fingers against the main artery in his neck and wait. There's a pulse – the faintest I've ever felt, but it's there. "No. Help me get him up."

We each put one of his arms around our shoulders and haul him up. His bare feet drag along the ground as we carry him through the hall and up the stairs. I don't want to think about the empty bottle of pills and how it got empty.

(ANNIE)

"This is all _their_ fault," Citlalli whispers. "We're gonna die because of _them_."

"No we aren't," Osiris says. I think this is the first time I've ever heard him speak. "There's a hovercraft coming for us. We're gonna be fine."

Cillian is still crying. I rock him back and forth, humming a little lullaby. He's too young to understand what's going on. He probably doesn't even know we're in danger. He's probably just crying because he's hungry, and it's humid out here.

Angharad is standing a little ways off, halfway between me and them. She doesn't seem to notice her friend's distress. She just looks at me and Cillian. "He's a beautiful baby," she says quietly. She's strangely calm.

"He's a killer!" Citlalli gasps. "His parents are killers and so is he!"

"Slap her," I say to no one in particular.

"What?" Angharad says.

"She's hysterical. You have to slap her to get her out of it."

Osiris looks at Citlalli for a moment before raising his right hand to his left shoulder and backhanding her across the cheek. There's a long moment of silence as Citlalli rubs her cheek. "I'm sorry," Osiris says eventually.

"You hit me," Citlalli said in disbelief. "You _hit_ me!"

"I know – I'm sorry!"

"Look!" Angharad cries, pointing upwards. "The hovercraft!" She starts waving her arms above her head to get its attention. "Help us!"

I turn toward the doorway that leads back into the house. "_Finnick_!"

(FINNICK)

I'm rattling off a long string of curse words as we climb the last few steps onto the roof. The hovercraft is there, doorway open. Peeta and Dodge are still pulling a half-conscious, all-drunk Haymitch in. He says something unintelligible and turns to look over his shoulder. "Wudda ellappena im?" he slurs, pointing at Beetee.

The shouts of the crowd below are growing louder every second.

"Boss!" Dodge calls. He leaves Haymitch and Peeta once they're inside the hovercraft and rushes over to help us with Beetee. "What happened?"

"Emptied a bottle of pills," Enobaria says without emotion. She plops him down on the floor of the hovercraft. The door closes behind us, silencing the din from the riot.

"Come on, Beetee," I say, sitting beside him. I pull him into a seated position and pry his mouth open before sticking two fingers down his throat.

He starts coughing and vomiting up the pills. I help him onto his hands and knees so he doesn't get sick on himself. His whole body is shaking.

I clap him on the back. "There you go. Get it out," I say in a low voice. I see Annie watching us from a small couch, Cilly in her arms. There are a few other couches lining the walls of the relatively small craft. Citlalli has passed out on one of them; Angharad and Osiris try to fan her with their hands. Haymitch and Katniss are seated on another, staring blankly at us.

Slowly but surely, Beetee regains his bearings. He sits back on his heels, cursing. "My glasses," he says quietly as he touches the cracked lens.

"What about Johanna?" Annie asks quietly.

I shake my head. "I checked her in under a false name. Nobody else knows where she is – just us victors." I turn back to Beetee and pat him on the back again.

"What happened?" Peeta demands. His voice is cold, eyes hard.

Beetee looks down at his hands.

"What. Happened?" Peeta says again, angrier this time. "Hmm?"

"Hoss, I don't think now is the time for –" Dodge is cut off mid-sentence.

"_What happened_?!" he shouts. "An accident, right? It was an accident for you to swallow all those pills?" I can't tell if he's accusing Beetee of trying to commit suicide or just asking for an honest explanation.

"Peeta –" Dodge tries again.

"Shut up," Peeta says, not looking away from Beetee. "Haymitch told me what you did. You have no right to even speak." He addresses Beetee again. "He left her to rot in jail with me and Johanna. Do you know what they did to us, Beetee? Do you know what they did to Broadsea?"

"Peeta . . ." Annie says.

"He sacrificed himself so that we could get out of the arena. And you were about to throw that sacrifice away." He's fuming. This is the first time I have ever seen Peeta Mellark really, truly angry – not because of the hijacking, but because he's actually pissed.

Tears are welling up in Beetee's eyes.

"Broadsea died screaming. Real or not real?" he says. Nobody responds. "Real or not real?!"

"Real," Katniss says, swallowing.

"Annie, Johanna, and I were all freed from prison because Beetee, Katniss, and Finnick were able to keep Snow distracted. Real or not real?" He's not asking because he's unsure; he wants Beetee to hear every question and answer – to intensify his guilt.

"Real," Katniss says again.

"We've been through too damn much, Beetee." Peeta says it so quietly that only he, Beetee, and I can hear him.

"Come on, Peeta," she says quietly, patting the empty spot beside her. Peeta glares at Beetee one last time before taking a seat beside her.

"I didn't want to kill myself," Beetee says to me; his voice is so quiet I doubt anyone else can make out the specific words. "I just wanted it to stop." He swallows. "I wanted to sleep."

I put my hand on his shoulder. I don't know what to say to him. I rise to my feet and walk over to Annie. Her eyes are glassy. "Are you okay?" I ask.

She nods slightly. "This doesn't feel real," she says quietly, then sighs. "Nothing's felt real in a long, long time."


	14. The Prison

**THEY CAST ANNIE! THE ACTRESS'S NAME IS STEF DAWSON. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO REACT TO THIS.**

**The Prison**

(FINNICK)

"I'd rather _die_!" Peeta shouts.

"This is the only truly secure place left for you," the guard says. "No one will think to look here!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Peeta howls. "I AM NOT GOING BACK IN THERE!"

Annie is shaking so hard that she's practically vibrating. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," she chants. Her nails dig into my arm hard enough to draw blood. Neither one of us cares. I don't know how to comfort her; I don't think it's even possible.

"Can't you bring us to another district? Any other district?" Haymitch says.

Annie is still chanting under her breath. "No, no, no, no."

"There's not enough fuel," the guard replies.

"Can't we stay in the hovercraft, then?" Enobaria asks.

We're parked beside the prison – the same prison where Annie, Peeta, and Johanna were held and tortured for what seemed like an eternity.

There are two other hovercrafts parked nearby, and about two dozen guards waiting outside this one. I'm not sure if it's to protect us or drag us into the prison, though.

"We need this hovercraft to transport soldiers throughout the Capitol."

"No, no, no, no, no," Annie continues. I don't think she's even aware she's doing it.

"There has to be something else," Haymitch says, shaking his head. "You can't really expect us to go into a prison made for torturing victors."

"Sir, I'm under strict orders to bring all of you into the prison," he says. "Many government officials, including the president, will be taking refuge here. Plutarch Heavensby is already inside." There's a pause. "Johanna Mason was sedated and brought here from the hospital."

There's another pause – longer this time.

The guard pulls something out of his boot – a capped syringe. "I've been instructed to inject you with morphling and drag you in unconscious if you don't comply."

No one really knows what to say. Annie stops her chanting.

The main door opens, and several more guards come in.

Katniss and I exchange a look. An understanding passes between us. We will do whatever we must to keep our loved ones safe from harm. Even this.

Peeta picks up on this. "No. Katniss, no!"

"Peeta, you could die if we don't," she whispers. She puts her hands on his face.

"The army will keep the riots controlled," Peeta insists.

"They're not that strong," Haymitch says quietly.

"Please trust me, Peeta. This is the only way." As she speaks to him, Haymitch nods at one of the guards. Peeta doesn't know what's happening until he feels the needle being jammed into his neck, and by then it's too late.

"Katniss?" he whispers in disbelief. That's all he can say.

Katniss watches, crying, as they drag him unconscious from the hovercraft.

Annie hasn't moved once. It's only when she sees Angharad – who's got Cillian in her arms – begin to leave that she starts fighting.

"NO!" she shrieks. She dashes out of my arms so fast I barely have time to blink. She snatches Cillian from Angharad with one hand and uses the other to slam Angharad's head against the door of the craft. She manages to grab a knife from one of the guards' belts. She runs to the back corner of the hovercraft and sets Cillian on the ground before taking up a protective stance in front of him. The whole thing can't have taken more than a few seconds.

Angharad's head is bleeding, but she's conscious as Osiris and Citlalli help her off the hovercraft.

"Annie," I say soothingly. I take a cautious step towards her. Behind her, Cillian begins to cry.

"Stay away from us!" she growls.

I've never thought of Annie as dangerous – even when she killed three people in the Arena. But now, faced with something she's almost too afraid to see in her nightmares, flooded with the instinct to protect herself and her child, and unable to flee, it starts to sink in that my wife is deadly.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," I say. "You know that." I don't turn my head when I address the other victors. "Get out of here."

Beetee starts to object "Finnick –"

"I said get out!" I shout. I turn to watch them go. Dodge doesn't budge. Neither do the soldiers. "Go."

"I'm with you, Boss."

"Now is not the time."

"It's the only time," he says.

She turns her head toward him, but keeps the knife pointed at me.

"Look at me, Annie," I say. "Okay? Look at me."

She turns her head back to me. There are tears in her eyes.

"I won't hurt you, Annie. You're my wife. I would never hurt you or our baby. You know that." I take another step toward her. "And I wouldn't let them bring us here if it wasn't safe. Do you trust me?"

She nods.

"Then put the –"

I'm cut off by Dodge. He lunges at Annie, reaching for the knife. But she's faster than he is. She sinks the knife into his abdomen. They stay frozen there for a moment before Annie pulls the knife back out. Dodge stumbles backwards, rattling off a string of profanities.

Several guards step forward. "No!" I say. "I can handle it."

One of them nods and hands me a syringe. Dodge is carried out of the hovercraft, still cursing away.

When I turn back to Annie, tears are running down her cheeks. The knife, now slick with Dodge's blood, is raised in my direction. "I don't want to hurt you," she says quietly.

"Then don't."

She shakes her head. "I can't go in there. And I won't let you bring my baby in, either."

"Annie –"

"Don't!" she sobs. "Do you know what they do in there?" She shakes her head.

I take another step towards her. Before she can take a swing at me, I grab the knife by the blade and twist it until she's forced to drop it. I toss it out of her reach, and she immediately starts clawing at me, screaming as she does. I try not to hurt her, but her fear and desperation make it hard to be gentle.

We end up on the floor. She's pinned down beneath me, still screaming and writhing. I uncap the syringe with my teeth and jam it into her outer thigh.

"I'm sorry, Annie," I whisper as she starts to lose consciousness. "I'm so sorry."

She's still wearing her robe and nightgown, brown curls tangled around her head.

**Yeah, really short – sorry. I wanted to put something up, though, since it's been so long (college tours are the bane of my existence). Thanks for reading!**


	15. Snake

**College applications are a bitch.**

**Snake**

(KATNISS)

_Finnick and I are sitting in our hospital beds parallel to each other. Joking. Laughing. Beetee drifts in and out, saying a few words here and there. Finnick's tying knots in his rope while the meal on the plate beside him grows colder and colder. I just watch him, trying to make sense of the loops and twists._

_"Don't!" a woman whisper-hisses. "He's not ready for it!"_

_Finnick and I both look up as Finnick's doctor and a man storm into view. "I'm under direct orders from Coin," he says simply. I think his name is Boggs, but I'm not sure._

_"What is it?" I ask._

_Finnick stops tying knots._

_Dr. Something knows she's lost the fight. "Let me, Boggs. Please."_

_He nods._

_Dr. Something comes close to me, sitting on the chair beside my bed. "Finnick . . ." _

_There's a long pause._

_"Finnick, Broadsea is dead."_

_Broadsea. I think he was a victor from a while back. The name doesn't mean much to me. But it seems to mean everything to Finnick, who sits frozen._

_"How?" Finnick says in an emotionless tone._

_"He was executed," Boggs says._

_"_How_?" Finnick says again, angry this time._

_"Electrocuted. Publicly."_

_In a heartbeat, Finnick goes from sitting stone-still to something entirely different. His hand flies out, whacking his plate of food off of the table. His doctor stands up and steps back as Finnick lets out a wordless cry. He tears the curtains from their rails around his bed, screaming. _

_"NO!" he shouts. He begins to scream again, but it dissolves into sobs. He puts his head in his hands and allows himself to fall to pieces._

(FINNICK)

"Let us see them," Haymitch pleads.

"They're under sedation, sir," one of the guards says.

"Don't treat us like we're just civilians!" Katniss shouts.

The available staff members are trying to keep me, Katniss, Enobaria, and Haymitch calm. We go back and forth trying to get into the hospital wing to see the other victors to the room where Paylor is trying to sort all this crap out with her advisors. We aren't allowed in either one.

We're currently standing in a hallway under the strict supervision of three large guards.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm under orders," the same guard says. I guess he's the leader of this little troop.

"At least let me have my son," I beg.

He's not sure what to say to this. He commands us to wait here while he talks to his supervisor. There's silence for several minutes before we hear Cillian crying. The guard reemerges, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, with the screaming baby in his arms.

He deposits Cillian in my arms and tells us to follow him. Hallways and hallways and an elevator ride. He leaves us in an old office.

With nothing else to do, we turn on the television and watch the Games.

There are only five tributes left: Avalon, Regina, and three other kids – two boys and a girl. I'm not sure what districts they represent. There are no alliances left.

They're all pretty spread out, so the Gamemakers do what they do best: start a conflict.

The girl whose name I don't know is running hard and fast. She has no weapons except for a small knife she keeps wrapped in her fist. She trips over a tree root.

And then it wraps itself around her ankle. She looks down and screams. It's a snake.

It's dappled green and brown, and would blend in completely with the jungle if not for a pair of white fangs as long as my hand and a pair of blood red eyes.

It hisses at her before sinking those fangs into her thigh, right on the artery. Whatever venom it has is injected directly into her bloodstream.

She screams at the top of her lungs as her leg begins to swell. The screams continue as the venom works its way through her bloodstream. Blood begins trickling out of her eyes and ears – it's slow at first, but before long it's gushing. She's coughing blood, too. And convulsing.

A cannon fires.

The other tributes, meanwhile, are being driven closer together by those same snakes.

One of the boys whose name I don't know is being chased by one. It darts out, taking a snap at his heels. It misses, but the boy stumbles. No sooner has he fallen to the ground than the snake bites his head off in a single, fluid motion.

Cannon.

Avalon and the other male tribute have climbed a tree to escape the serpents. Regina is scaling a tree only a few feet off when a snake shoots out of nowhere and opens its jaws. In a flash, it has swallowed her whole. The outline of her body is visible in the snake's stomach.

Avalon and the other boy are struggling in the treetop. Avalon kicks the boy in the face, making him slip off the branch he's perched on. But the boy's reflexes are fast. He's got his knife in his hand, and stabs the nearest thing to him so he won't fall. That thing happens to be Avalon's leg.

He cries out as the knife drags down his thigh. The gash is so deep that his muscles and bone are clearly visible.

The boy has managed to find his footing. He pulls himself back onto the branch and rips the knife out of Avalon's leg.

All the snakes begin to slither away. The only one that remains is the one that swallowed Regina is slowed down by the extra weight. It doesn't seem to be able to move.

Avalon isn't finished fighting. He and the boy are struggling and rolling when they fall out of the tree and onto the ground. The boy takes the impact. Both of his legs and one of his arms are bent unnaturally. They're broken.

Avalon finds a stone and drags himself over to the screaming, crying, whimpering, begging boy and begins to hit him in the head over and over and over and over.

By the time his cannon goes off his face is beaten beyond recognition and most of his skull is crushed.

Avalon rolls off of his body and lays on the ground. Several moments pass and nothing happens. No announcer proclaims his victory. There are no shouts from an excited audience.

"Come get me!" Avalon shouts at the sky. "I won. Get me out of here!"

"What's happening?" I ask. "Didn't he win?"

"Maybe they're gonna let him bleed to death," Katniss says.

Haymitch knits his brows together. "I don't –"

That's when a knife pierces that last snake's skin. It drags down until the body bursts open and Regina crawls out, covered in blood and snakeskin and God knows what else.

Avalon rolls onto his stomach and looks over at Regina. He doesn't seem scared or angry or anything really. Just tired.

"Are you going to kill me now?" he asks.

Regina is still gasping for breath. "Would you like me to?"

"I can't fight anymore," he says.

"Neither can I," she replies. "You're leg is bleeding pretty bad there."

"Just kill me. Just do it and get it over with." He's growing paler by the second. There's a pool of blood growing around him.

Regina doesn't respond.

It takes several minutes for him to bleed to death. They don't even bother with the cannon.

There's no announcer. Instead, words appear across the screen: VICTOR OF THE FINAL HUNGER GAMES. REGINA SNOW.


	16. The Spectator

**I AM SO EXCITED FOR _CATCHING FIRE_ TO COME OUT.**

**The Spectator **

(ANNIE)

When I break through the haze of sedatives, I'm not sure what to do. Do I pretend to still be under? Do I make a fuss and have them inject me again?

I open my eyes the slightest bit. Dodge is on my left, shirtless and sleeping with a huge bandage over the spot where the knife went in. Peeta is on my right, facing away from me with his arms under his head. They're both fast asleep. I don't know where Beetee is, but he must be around here somewhere.

"He's in the next room."

I look towards the direction of the voice. In the far corner of the room there is a man. Dark, cropped hair. Big muscles. Tattoos scattered on his arms, which are crossed over his chest. Smirk on his face. Sea-colored eyes. And a long red scar running down the side of his face.

"What's the matter?" he says. "Don't you remember me?"

I can't speak. My throat is closing up almost as fast as my heart is beating.

"Remember what I used to call you?" he asks, stepping closer. He doesn't wait for me to respond. "Sweet Annie."

I want to scream or run or laugh or cry but I can't tell which and even if I could my body won't move and I'm trapped in my bed staring at him and he's just grinning away like nothing's wrong.

"I watched you die." My voice cracks several times. "I saw it."

"Say my name."

"Broadsea."

His smile widens and warms. "I knew you remembered me." He sits down on the chair by my bed and stretches his legs out, propping his feet up on my bed.

"I miss you."

His expression is doubtful. "How strong is that stuff they're giving you?"

I can't help but laugh.

"Jesus, Annie, you must be in pretty bad shape to be missing me."

I don't reply.

Broadsea takes a deep breath, probably trying to think of a new subject. "You've got a cute kid. Looks like you."

"Thanks."

"Of course, he'd be cuter if he didn't look like Finnick, too." There's a beat. "I have to say, I'm a little offended you didn't name him after me."

"His middle name is Broadsea," I say defensively.

"But why not his first name? Or you could've named him after one of those boys you befriended in the arena."

"I want him to be separate from all that. He's a new person living in a new world. I don't want him to be tied down by his parents' past."

"Fair enough."

I swallow back the lump that's forming in my throat. "Are you happy?"

"Are you worried about me?" he teases, grinning. "Yes. I am. Very happy. Mags is here. And Xandria. All the victors."

"What is it like?"

"Whatever you want it to be like. We do anything we want. But sometimes we're spectators – just sit back and watch the world go on, you know?"

"How can you be here?" I whisper.

He shrugs. "Who says I am?" He barely pauses before he speaks again. "I'm surprised it took you this long to stab him." He nods at Dodge. "If I could, I would've ripped his face off by now."

"I didn't want to –" I begin, but he cuts me off.

He snorts. "Of course you did. I know, I know, you did it to protect Cillian and all that. But don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"Not until a year ago."

Broadsea frowns. "He's always irked me."

"I know. But you were pretty nice to him."

"That was for your sake. I didn't want to upset you."

I look down at my hands, picking the dirt from under my nails.

"Most of the stuff I did was for you, actually."

I snort.

"What?"

I chew on my lower lip. "You have done a lot of things for me. But most of the things you did were for yourself." I look into his eyes.

"I sacrificed myself so they could bring Finnick to you. I think that outweighs most of the selfish things I did." There's a long pause. "For what it's worth, I miss you too."

"You have Xandria again," I say dismissively.

He chuckles. "Yes, I do. And I'm already getting sick of her." He looks at me like he's waiting for a reaction - laughter, maybe. But there's nothing.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"Because." I take a deep, shaky breath. "You're just going to leave again."

He sounds genuinely curious when he asks, "I am?"

We both turn at the sound of footsteps approaching. Broadsea gets up from his chair and moves so that he's standing with his back to the wall.

"Annie!" Finnick calls.

"Finnick?!"

"Annie, it's okay. I'm gonna get you out of here." There are a few sounds I can't place and then the door slides open; Finnick and Katniss rush in. Finnick makes a beeline to my bed and puts his hands on my face. "Are you all right? No bruises? No bad dreams?"

"I'm okay." And I am. I'm not scared anymore. Not with Broadsea and Finnick here.

Katniss is pushing Peeta's hair away from his face, saying soft things. His anesthetic hasn't worn off yet. I think they gave him a bigger dose than me.

"Are you sure?" Finnick says.

"Where's Cilly? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. Sleeping like a rock."

"Angharad – is she all right? Did I –"

"She's okay, too. They're gonna transport her to a real hospital, though. Dodge too."

Broadsea snorts. "Are we sure he deserves it?"

I give Finnick a look and he leans in close. "Is he real?" I whisper, flicking my eyes toward Broadsea.

Finnick turns to look. He spends several moments studying the space where Broadsea is standing up straight, arms by his side. His expression is neutral.

Words can't describe the expression that's on Finnick's face when he turns back to me. His silence tells me everything I need to know.

I can feel the tears rolling from my eyes but I don't care enough to wipe them away.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here." He puts his arms under my knees and shoulders and lifts me off the bed. I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his shoulder. "It's all right. The riot is over. We're safe now."

I look to see if Broadsea is still standing there. He is. "Don't worry," he says. "I'll be along in a minute." He smiles at me. That same wide, carefree, amused smile he wore before they dragged him off to die.


	17. Visions

**SAW THE PREMIER OF CATCHING FIRE. OH MY GOD. I AM STILL SHAKING. IT WAS SO GOOD. I came home and I HAD to write something – sorry if this isn't the best quality. **

**Visions**

(ANNIE)

_Yesterday they used knives on him. Today it's collar shocks._

_They ask him question after question and he says nothing. Except occasionally egging them on. After each shock, he rises to his feet and stands with his shoulders back, trying to act as if nothing has happened. "Do it!" he screams. "DO IT!"_

_And they do._

_I'm held back by a guard as always, left to scream and cry and fight while Broadsea falls to the ground._

_They must've raised the voltage this time, because Broadsea seems to lose control of his muscles. He starts shaking and thrashing uncontrollably. His eyes have rolled back in his head. They've shocked him into a seizure._

_I scream._

_When it's over the guard lets go of me. They leave with a simple "We'll be back tomorrow."_

_I sit on the ground by Broadsea, who is lying unconscious. "Broadsea?" I pull his head onto my lap and start patting his cheek in an attempt to wake him. "Can you hear me? Broadsea?"_

_It takes a few minutes for Broadsea's eyes to open. "Annie."_

_"I'm here," I say. _

_He sighs, apparently displeased with my answer. "I don't feel well."_

_"Can you make it to the cot?" I ask, looking at our paper-thin cot on the other side of the room._

_"Will you sing to me?" he asks, ignoring my question. "Sing about home."_

_So I do._

I hold Cillian all through the hovercraft ride. Finnick keeps his arm around me. He looks at us from time to time, but mostly stares out the window. I try to focus on Cillian – his tiny, delicate features and his little fists. But I can't.

Broadsea is sitting in the seat across from us, tapping his foot and whistling some tune. He's looking out the window, too. The whistling gets louder and louder; it's almost deafening.

"Will you stop that?!" I snap at him.

Everybody on the hovercraft – except for Peeta, who stares blankly out the window – turns to look at me. "Annie?" Finnick asks gently.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Never mind."

Broadsea makes a face like he's trying to hold in a laugh. "Mmm. Very subtle, Annie."

I clench my jaw, staring at the floor. Looking at him would draw too much attention.

"They can't see me. Or hear me. But you can."

I want to ask him why, but Finnick is still watching me.

"So what happened?" Peeta asks. "The riot just stopped?"

"Yes," Katniss replies. "As soon as Regina won."

"I don't think they're sure what to do now," says Beetee.

Beetee was cleared to come back to the mansion with us, but they're going to send doctors to keep an eye on him. Dodge and Johanna were transported separately from us to a hospital. They're going to be sent back to the mansion, too – along with a few doctors. It's going to get crowded in that house.

Finnick sighs. "I don't think _any_ of us know what to do."

I start singing quietly to Cillian, who is sleeping in my arms. Finnick starts tapping the rhythm out on the back of our seat. It's an old lullaby that everyone in District 4 knows.

"That's what you sang to me," Broadsea says, stunned. "After they . . . That's what you sang. Do you remember?"

I have to remind myself not to look directly at him.

"Don't stop," Finnick murmurs. I didn't realize I'd gone silent. "I like that song." He laughs quietly as Cillian starts wriggling. "See? Cilly wants you to sing, too."

"Sing," Broadsea whispers.

So I do.

[LATER]

I'm sitting on the bed with Cillian. He has one of his little fists wrapped around my finger as I make silly faces. Cilly always makes me feel better. It's almost like nothing even happened – almost.

"To be perfectly honest, I hate kids," Broadsea says. He's sitting on the other side of Cilly, watching him. "But I guess this one is okay."

"You hear that?" I say to Cilly. "You're the sweetest baby in the whole wide world. Nobody can resist you."

I hear a soft chuckle and look up. Finnick is leaning against the doorjamb, watching us.

Broadsea rises from the bed. "I'll see you tomorrow." He slips right past Finnick.

"Were you watching us?" I ask.

"It still doesn't feel real," he says, walking over to the bed. "Marriage. Cilly." He sits next to me on the bed and kisses me. "I think it's bedtime."

"I agree. _You_ are up far too late," I say, poking Finnick's chest. "And you didn't even take a nap today."

"Cilly's a bad influence," he replies, and pecks my lips. I kiss Cilly on the head and set him in Finnick's arms. Finnick carries him carefully to the crib, but as soon as he's down, Finnick leaps onto the bed. I lie down; he hovers over me. "Where were we?" he asks, brushing my hair behind my ear.

"I think you were about to kiss me."

He does. I shut my eyes as he runs his hand through my hair, kisses my cheek and neck.

When I open them, He's on top of me.

Sharp, angular features and light hair and cruel smile and his eyes – his horrible, bottomless eyes that seem to suck my soul right out of me.

Telemachus. The warden.

"No," I breathe.

"Annie?"

"Leave me alone."

His expression is wicked but his voice is timid. "Annie, I –"

"STOP IT!" I'm thrashing and shoving at him and there's a pit in my stomach and this isn't happening it can't be happening not again I can't I won't survive it this time I feel sick please don't let this be happening. "GET OFF OF ME!" There's a baby crying somewhere is it mine I don't know I can't breathe I can't move I'm frozen I shut my eyes I'm not here I'm anywhere else this isn't happening there's a chocking sound I think it's me.

"Annie it's all right, you're safe," someone is saying but I can't see who because my eyes are shut so tight.

I can hear the door opening there are other people in the room now asking questions.

"I don't know," a frantic voice replies. "She just started screaming. I think she thought I was the –" he stops mid-sentence.

"Annie, look at me." It's a soft voice. Familiar. I open my eyes.

He's got blond hair and big blue eyes and a sort of softness about him that can't be mistaken. "Peeta," I whisper.

"You're okay. He's gone. He can't hurt anybody anymore."

The baby is still crying but I can't force myself out of the bed to comfort him. I turn my head and Finnick is on the other side of the room with his back against the wall. As far away from me as possible. He looks like he might cry.

"Finnick." I open my arms to him. They're still shaking. He comes over to me slowly, cautiously. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Katniss lift Cillian out of his cradle.

"I'm sorry," Finnick whispers, wrapping his arms around me. "I'm never gonna hurt you, Annie. I promise. Nobody's ever gonna hurt you again."

(FINNICK)

Peeta and Katniss have offered to take care of Cilly for the night. Annie needs to rest and Angharad isn't coming within ten miles of Annie any time soon.

Annie is asleep in my arms. Peeta and Annie are still here – just to make sure that Annie's okay. He sits on a rocking chair by Cillian's cradle, leaning forward.

"You know what he did to her," I say.

He nods.

"How?"

He shrugs. "They designed the prison so that sound carried between cells."

I look back to Annie, who's breathing softly through her mouth. "That's never happened before."

"What?"

"She's never . . . _seen me_ as anyone bad before. She thought she saw Broadsea today, too."

"Who was he?" Katniss asks.

"He won the year before Finnick," Peeta explains. "I had short conversation with him. Before they brought Annie in."

"He was my best friend – my brother," I say. "He was in love with Annie."

"We should go," Peeta says. "It's getting late."

I nod. "Thank you. Both of you. For everything."

They go, and I'm left alone with my sleeping wife.

If she was awake, I wonder if she would see Broadsea in the room.

**So, yeah, that's it. SAM CLAFLIN WAS AN AMAZING FINNICK. UGH. SO GOOD.**


	18. Flicker

**Flicker**

(FINNICK)

I don't feel rested at all. My eyelids fight desperately, refusing to be pulled apart. So I keep them closed. My muscles are sore and stiff and I'd really like nothing better than to spend the whole day in bed. I finally got Annie to sleep after her first big meltdown. But she woke up screaming about every two hours. Nightmares.

I reach across the bed until I feel Annie. I wrap my arm around her and pull her in close. "What time is it?" I groan.

"Early," she says. I can feel her roll over to face me. She puts her hand on my face, stroking my cheek.

I finally open my eyes. Annie's eyes are red and puffy like she's been crying. "You all right?"

She manages a half-hearted smile. "Yeah. I'm hungry, though."

We go into the kitchen to hunt for something to eat. The lights are all off in the house, and Annie clings nervously to my hand. We're poking through the pantries when –

"Good. Someone's up."

Annie gasps and hides behind me.

Plutarch is sitting in the breakfast nook with a large cup of coffee in his hands. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

I bring Annie next to me and wrap my arms around her. "No worries," I say. "What can I do for you?"

Plutarch wears an expression I can't quite place. He sighs. "Not for me. For someone . . . else."

[LATER]

We're all gathered in the library after breakfast. Johanna is here, too. She looks – well, she looks awful. Withdrawal is plain on her face. She's in a hospital gown, frowning as always. Beetee is picking apart the television projector; he seems totally uninterested in the conversation. Bennett (aka Dr. Something) – who took care of me in District 13 and is now Johanna's primary caregiver – stands by the door with a clipboard in her hands.

"Caesar Flickerman has been under house arrest since the regime change," Plutarch begins.

"And?" Haymitch says.

"He's going to be released to interview Regina. I have two things to ask you." He pauses for a moment to make sure we're all paying attention. "First, Paylor has asked you all to consider what to do about Regina."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Whether or not to execute her," Katniss says without needed to think about it.

"What's the second thing?" asks Enobaria, as though the first item bores her.

"Caesar wants to celebrate his coming release with a dinner party. With past victors."

We all take a moment to think. Johanna is the first to speak. "All right. If I get a free meal out of it."

"You're not going," I say.

Johanna glares at me, then turns her gaze to Bennett. "Well?"

"I agree with Finnick," Bennett says apologetically. "You're not in the proper state of mind to –"

"You're lack of trust is inspiring," she spits. She stands up and storms out of the room.

Dodge turns back to Plutarch. "So what's the dress code? Black tie?"

(ANNIE)

Caesar Flickerman lives in the top two stories of a particularly expensive building near the center of the Capitol.

We're greeted at the door by Caesar himself, his bleached teeth gleaming in a smile. It almost hurts my eyes. His hair and eyebrows are shockingly pink and his suit is a rich royal blue. "My victors!" he shouts, and then laughs his trademark laugh.

Finnick must know I'm overwhelmed because he puts his arm around my waist and subtly pulls me closer to him.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome! Ha, ha!" He ushers us into his foyer. Crystals hang above our heads, casting rainbow light on the walls. There are at least half a dozen portraits of Caesar through the years. In each one his hair is a different color, and he looks more and more artificial.

He ushers us into the main room, which is just as staggering as the foyer. The far wall is just one big window; we can see the whole Capitol from it.

"What happened to you?" Caesar says, staring at Finnick's bandaged hand. I'd almost forgotten about the cut on his hand from grabbing that knife from me at the prison.

"I cut it," Finnick says simply.

"In the old days, victors would never be allowed in the Capitol with a visible imperfection. But this isn't the old days!" He laughs uncomfortably and all but unhinges his jaw to down the rest of his drink. I don't think he's handling his new place in the world very well.

He seats us on white couches and offers us something to drink. Haymitch asks for the strongest liquor he's got. Everyone else asks for wine.

"I don't drink," I say.

"Oh, I forgot!" Caesar says, throwing up his hands. "Of course you can't! The baby!"

We drink – mostly in silence – for about half an hour before a blue-haired, pink-skinned servant comes in and announces that dinner is ready.

Once we're seated, Haymitch asks the big question: "I hope you don't mind my asking, Caesar, but why didn't they kill you?"

Caesar simply shrugs. "Publicity. Forgetfulness. Either way, I intend to make the most of my new life."

"New life?" Enobaria repeats.

"Yes." He puts his hands up, framing a picture none of us can see as he stares into the future. "I feel like a phoenix. Reborn from the ashes." He chuckles. "Or maybe a mockingjay."

We're about three courses into the meal – it's more of a feast – when I start to feel . . . wrong. My stomach starts knotting and my hands start shaking/ my head hurts from all the lights in the room and the grating sound of Caesar's voice.

When I look down, my hands are red. Covered in blood. The silverware drops to my plate with a loud _clang_.

"What?" Caesar asks, glass of wine halfway to his mouth. "Is there something wrong with the food?" He takes a swig.

"Do you have a restroom I could use?" I try to hide the shaking in my voice.

"Go down that hall, turn right, and it's the last door on the side," Caesar says, motioning with his glass.

"Are you all right?" Finnick murmurs.

I manage to nod.

I hurry to the bathroom, wiping my hands on my dress. That only gets my clothes dirty, not my hands clean. I barely slow down as I round the corner. But I come to a complete stop when I see the legs.

"Hello?" I say. I cautiously approach what appears to be a person lying on the ground. The door is halfway open, and the lower half of the body is in the hallway. I push the door open to see the rest of the person.

There's no head.

I gasp, clamping my hand over my mouth.

"Why didn't you save me?" a voice asks. So sad so hurt. The head is a few feet off. It's a boy's face. No older than thirteen, but with naturally grey hair. And bright blue eyes that shine with tears.

I know him. I've seen him for years. But only in my nightmares.

"They killed me," he says. "And you didn't save me. You didn't help."

Asper.

I watched him die watched them hack one two three four five six seven eight times before his head came off and he was screaming the whole time he was screaming hands over my ears to block out the sound I couldn't help him I wasn't strong enough there were too many too strong I was weak he was so young so kind so trusting I let him down I'm sorry Asper please forgive me forgive me I never wanted you to die screaming and bleeding so much blood everywhere blood and screaming I couldn't save you.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE ME?" he screams.

Hands over ears can't block out the sound so I scream so loud I don't want to hear him I'm sorry I was weak I'm still weak I didn't know how to help I still don't know forgive me please I'm so sorry.

(FINNICK)

"So?" Caesar asks Peeta and Katniss. "How's life for the lovebirds?"

Katniss chokes on her wine.

"This isn't an interview, Caesar," Haymitch says. "How bout you leave 'em alone?"

Caesar is about to say something when he's interrupted by a piercing scream. _Annie's_ scream.

For a moment I'm not here. I'm back in the arena – back in the jungle, hearing Annie scream at the top of her lungs in fear and pain.

I'm not even aware of the fact that I'm moving until I reach her.

She's crumpled on the ground with her hands clamped over her ears. I drop down beside her and start trying to draw her back to reality. "It's all right. I'm here. Come back to me. You're safe. We're all safe." I point to the knotted rope bracelets on her wrist. "Remember this? I gave this to you on our wedding day. And this one on the day Cilly was born."

She removes her hands and examines the bracelets, but is still being wracked by sobs. "Asper –" she manages.

"Asper?" I haven't heard that name in years. He was the male tribute from 4 in Annie's Games. She watched him die slowly and painfully, and she retreated so far into herself that it took her months to even speak. "What about him?"

She crawls out of my arms and begins pulling herself toward the half-open door. "He was there," she gasps, confused. "He was right here. I saw him. He was speaking to me." I pull her back to me. Wrap my arms around her. But she's still looking at that empty space. "Why is this happening to me?"

I half-carry her back into the dining room to get her sweater. The other victors look horrified. They look at Annie, who's clinging to me with both hands; she won't make eye contact with any of them.

The only person who doesn't seem the least bit phased is Caesar. "So?" he says. "Anyone up for dessert?"


End file.
